A Wall Against The Dark
by Relks the Disturbed
Summary: Darkness is looming on the horizon, and Professor Ozpin fears the worst. He calls upon his best and brightest to defend the good and peace of the world of Remnant. At the forefront of this force, stands Team BLWK. They are charged with guiding Teams RWBY and JNPR, and mysterious Team REPR. Only time will reveal the fates destiny lays out for them. Chapter 2 NOW REVISED! Ch.2 RatedM
1. Chapter 1

It was a dark night in the city of Vale. Massive skyscrapers towered above the people in the streets below. Electrical lights, fueled by the every present resource of Dust upon which modern man thrived, stood bright against the darkness as the citizens of the fair city refused to end their day with the setting of the Sun. For the criminal element, this was no different.

Said criminals were none other than several members of the notorious White Fang. who on this night were holding hostage the president of one of the many companies that called Vale their headquarter city. They were located in one of the many small office buildings located in the Commercial District of the sprawling metropolis. It stood at five stories tall, with windows dominating the North and Eastern walls of the building to give the many pencil pushes and interns of the offices the needed view of the outside world during the busy days. The White Fang had taken the building shortly after operating hours had ended, the only two people left inside being the President of the small company and his assistant.

With deliberate efficiency the terrorists had infiltrated the building and locked it down, capturing their two targets with swift skill. Now the two were bound and gagged, tossed casually against the large, expensive desk that dominated the room. Bookshelves lined the western and eastern walls of the room, while the northern wall was dominated by the large windows that allowed the pompous corporate leaders to view the world from his perch above. The room was sparsely furnished, with a mere two chairs on the southern side of the desk while the president's own sat on the northern side. It was a large office, dominating a fourth of the topmost floor of the office complex.

The room was guarded by a total of ten White Fang foot soldiers, the gray masks covering their faces leaving almost no distinction between them as they stood about the room in their white, gray and black uniforms. Two more guards were stationed outside, with the leader of the crew of terrorists sitting in the chair of the president. He was clad in a heavy black cloak, the mask of upon his face stark white with red accents near the eyes -the mask of a White Fang elite. Dark blue hair rose and bloomed on his head in a mass of messy curls, a pair of dog ears peeking through the swath of hair, covered in fine blue fur.

"This is your just desserts, dear Mr. President," the leader drawled as he looked at a watch on his wrist. It was just after midnight, and the deadline for the money had been missed. While the White Fang's main priority was the destruction of humanity and reclamation of the world for the Faunus, annihilating a species was a costly venture and from time to time actions had to be taken to...procure more funds.

"Any last words?" the blue-haired Faunus asked, hopping nimbly over the desk to land before the company president. He was an older gentleman, dark hairline receding and skin pale in the moonlight that shone through the window. Brown eyes widened in shock and horror as they realized the implications of the Faunus's words. Beside the president was his head secretary, a beautiful young woman with striking platinum blonde hair that framed her heart shaped face in an elegant pixie cut, light blue eyes glimmering in the dark as she stared on in fear. The maroon dress shirt and knee length skirt hugged her frame in ways that accentuated her figure, and it was without a doubt that habit of dressing that had gotten her the position she had.

Meanwhile, across the emptying street was another office building, just one story taller than the first at six stories tall. It was almost as unremarkable as the first, save for the lone figure laying perched on the southern edge of the roof, facing the five story building across the street. The figure was difficult to see against the moonlit skyline, her body pressed flat against the roof beneath her as she viewed the scene across the street through a telescopic scope mounted onto her large PSG1 sniper rifle.

She was a cute and petite girl, only in her late teens if one would believe it. She had shoulder length dark brown hair, which fanned across her thin back as she rested across the ground. Atop her head were a pair of rabbit ears, covered in brown fur and bent awkwardly in places as if they had been crushed by something. Adding to the damaged visage of the ears were several scars, pink and rigid, that stood out in stark contrast to the dark fur around them, as the ears curled down against her head as much as possible to reduce visibility. Eyes the color of a violet on a spring morning blinked, before she pressed her right eye back to the scope. Her normally cute features were vilified by the seriousness they now conveyed. If she had not been laying down it would have been seen that she stood at a mere five feet two inches.

Letting out a sigh that was barely above a whisper, the girl took her left hand off the secondary hand-hold near her rifle's barrel to quickly reach into her hoodie and flick the switch to open her comm-line. Said hoodie was black as night, with dark purple accents running along the lower hem of the coat, along with the pull-strings of the hood and the zipper itself also being purple. She pressed the switch on the small device that control the comm, clipped to the ruffled collar of her black blouse, and bit her lip in agitation as she watched the leader of the White Fang in the building slap the secretary to the side.

"This is Breeze, over. Targets spotted and hostages confirmed. Ready on your mark," she spoke into the earpiece wrapped around her left human ear, her voice quiet and feminine. The static over the comm-line vanished, replaced by a deep, masculine voice.

"This is Titan, copy," came the deep voice, before being followed by two more.

"This is Phantom, copy," came a slightly higher voice, smooth like silk as it radiated calm, even across the electronic communication system.

"This is Sparks, copy," came the final affirmative, a voice slightly more crass as it resonated with confidence and surety.

"Gotta say, I really don't like these mission nicknames," came Sparks again as the girl codenamed as Breeze pulled back the bolt of her rifle and chambered one of the large Dust rounds. They were stun rounds, hard yet flexible rubber that would incapacitate, maybe even break bones, but not kill. This didn't settle Breeze's unease as she saw the blue-haired Leader down below hoist of the president of the company and toss him onto the desk.

"Cut the chatter," came Titan, ever the strong leader. "Breeze, fire a shot to shatter the window and distract them. Sparks, Phantom, that'll be our cue. I'll drop the door and I want you two in there, mean and fast. Phantom, drop the hostiles and incap the leader as quick as possible, without killing if you can, while Sparks secures and evacs the hostages. Copy?"

"Copy," came the three voices of Sparks, Phantom and Breeze. The rabbit-eared Faunus held her breath even as the wind mussed her purple and black pleated skirt and sent the fabric billowing in the wind. Had she not been on mission, and not been wearing the black undershorts and leggings, she would have worried about her modesty.

"On three," Breeze whispered into the comm.

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

The leader of the group of White Fang was pulled from his glee at beating the poor corporate president when the wall to wall window in front of him shattered, and half a second later he registered the sharp pain between his eyes as he was thrown backwards off his feet, his mask shattering to reveal the face of a young man barely into his twenties, with boyish good looks only beginning to be tarnished by adulthood. He hit the ground hard, pieces of his destroyed mask scattering about him, but that was the least of his worries.

A mere second after the window shattered, the front door of the office exploded out onto the ten guards scattered through the office. In place of what had once been a pair of heavy oak doors, was a cloud of dust and debris. As the cloud began to clear, the two White Fang stationed outside fell outside of the shadows of the hallway fell through the doorway, unconscious. Next to appear was a massive circular shield, easily four feet across and glimmering bronze in the moonlight that came through open space that had once been the windows. A pair of silhouettes stood black against the shining shield, appearing to be depiction of a man with a sword confronting a beowolf. Red writing was also present along the outer rim of the shield, but the surprised White Fang footsoldiers did not get to read it as the man behind the shield came into view.

He was colossal man, towering over them as he was over six and a half feet tall, and intimidatingly clothed. A bronze chestplate made to appear like a muscular torso garbed his chest, with a red short sleeved shirt barely visible beneath it. His right arm, visible now as it extended further beyond the shield to unveil a massive three and a half foot long sword, was wreathed in a glittering bronze and crimson manica made of what had to be dozens of small leaf-like scales. A crimson skirt cascaded from his waist and stopped at his knees, it too covered in dozens of small bronze plates that caught the light and reflected it like a flickering flame as the skirt gave way to dark brown pant-legs clad with bronze greaves and crimson boots. Most intimidating other than his sheer size was the full helm on his head, it too bronze and hiding all his face save for a somewhat Y-shape gap showing his dark eyes and mouth, a large mane of blood-red hair billowing out from the back of the helm and tumbling behind him.

"What are you waiting for you idiots! Open fire!" the now maskless leader roared as he quickly scrambled to his feet. The foot soldiers, now shocked out of the stupor by the familiar voice of their boss, all raised the assault carbines in their hands. The massive warrior did not seem at all discouraged by their fire-power, simply dropping onto his right knee and leaning forward into his shield to disappear behind the imposingly large metal disc.

The gunfire quickly died down as the soldiers' guns clicked on empty. As this happened a pair of shadows launched themselves from either side of the one man wall, moving so fast all the soldiers could see at first was a white streak. The streak that had come from the right-hand side of the shield slowed, revealing who his features even as the left-side streak tore down three soldiers with quick metallic flashes of light.

The man who had slowed was tall, standing at just over six feet himself and only a few inches shorter than the monster man behind the shield. His features were angular and thin, handsome and yet devilish as he grinned at the soldiers. He wore a spacious looking black canvas jacket, which plumed at his sudden stop. A total of four large pockets with silver button clasp, two arrayed vertically on either side of the line of silver buttons going up the middle of the jacket gave way to a tall collar which stopped just a few inches shy of the man's chin, a large black hood folding back from the shoulders of the coat to hang against the man's back. A midnight blue shirt could be seen beneath the coat, plain and bland in contrast to the ornate outer wear. Black jeans clung to his lean and muscular legs, a white belt with a golden buckle looped through and cinched at his waist. Thin black leather boots, looking rather light as the man seemed to almost float, bound his feet as his grin broadened, and a sudden glint near his waist drew the soldiers's eyes down to the two strange, industrial looking white-bladed black daggers in his hands. His white hair, short and spiked back from his face was striking against his black clothing, but nothing so striking as the snow-white wolf ears perched atop his head just above and behind his temples.

"Kill 'em!" one of the five soldiers left on the eastern side of the room, opening fire with his freshly reloaded rifle onto the unarmored man. Laughter, smooth-toned and eerie, echoed from both sides of the room as the bullets passed harmless through the man.

"He's like a damn ghost!" another soldier said, quickly reloading as he fought off panic.

"More than you know," came that same smooth, eerily calm voice from directly behind the frightened Faunus. The man spun the on the spot to see the same white haired man they had just shot at standing behind them, as the "victim" of their bullet storm vanished like smoke. The poor grunt didn't even have time to react as a gunshot rang out through the small room and the White Fang soldier fell to the ground, the impact of the stun bullet having knocked the wind clean out of him.

The blue-haired leader of the White Fang looked on in shock as one of his own brethren, a fellow canine Faunus no less, tore through his soldiers like they were tissue paper. Growling in his rage, he swept aside his long black cloak to reveal a cerulean blue shirt that hugged his muscular frame, leading down to a pair of black slacks and equally black dress shoes. He drew his weapon from its place beneath the coat, a gray and blue hilt which extended into a two-edged shortsword that folded itself out from the block of metal it resembled when not active.

"How did I know it would be you again, Malcolm Turquoi?" another voice cut through the sounds of the foot soldiers being defeat. The leader, now revealed to be named Malcolm Turquoi, spun to see another man rushing the now freed hostages to the mountain of a man still posted at the door.

"Wintergale!" Malcolm practically spat as he looked at the man. He stood at about five feet ten inches, lean and muscular as he turned his head to look directly at Malcolm. He had pale, sky blue eyes that stood out strongly against the spiked black bangs that hung just above them, a mess of similarly spiked black hair topping his head and visible as it peeked from the back of his neck. His features were aristocratic, noble one might say, if not for the confident smirk plastered on his smug face. He wore a dark gray coat, two rows of traditional buttons running up its center to a over and under collar, the left side of which was showing while the right side tucked beneath it, the sleeves of the coat accentuating his toned arms as a the collar of a white button-up shirt poked out of the collar of the coat, buttoned tight to the man's neck. Jeans of a darker gray, close to black, wrapped around his lower body and were added to by a black belt passed through a single loop on his right hip. The opposite side of the belt at his left hip held the black, industrious sheath of a katana with small lines of light gleaming near edge of the sheath where the blade would enter. Dark gray boots, extending up to his mid-calves and bound tight by black straps held by silver buckles finished off his clothing.

"I'm being called Sparks for this mission," came the even toned-reply as Sparks twirled his weapon in his right hand. It was a rather ornate, modern looking katana. Its pommel was a square and gray, the front part of which extended forward into a dull edge on the lower side of the hilt. The hilt itself was black, three silver rings wrapping around it and spaced evenly apart along its length. The crossguard was a three dimensional spike, beginning as the hilt gave way to four arches, three of which meeting a semi-rectangular block of metal, the fourth extending along the block of metal to create the spike that then gave way to mirroring slopes leading back towards the rest of the sword and flowing out to the blade. The blade was straight-backed, contrary to traditional katana, with a fuller(A/N, what most know as a "blood groove") running the length of the blade save for the last three inches. The first four inches of the blade were dull, allowing safety so one could not cut themselves when quickly sheathing or unsheathing the weapon. All in all the sword was almost four feet in length, with razor-sharp blade being a majority of the weapon at three feet.

"Now, if you're done frothing at the mouth, we'll be taking you in," Sparks quipped as his eyes narrowing into a glare and both hands gripped the hilt of his sword, keeping the blade low to the ground and behind him as to prepare for an upward stroke. Malcolm paused in his rage, looking to his left to see that the white-haired wolf Faunus had already dispatched all his men. He resisted the urge to curse allowed as he gripped his weapon tighter, eyes burning with rage as he looked on at the man codenamed Sparks.

"This. Isn't. Over." Malcolm said slowly, glancing around quickly as he calculated his odds against the three, no correction four, enemies. Without giving them any time to react, he bolted for the empty space that had once been a window. Leaping out into the nothingness of a five-story drop, he spotted saw the culprit of the first shot on the rooftop across the street just before gravity took him. He plummeted towards the ground, gathering his Aura and blasting it out beneath him when he was a mere twenty feet above the ground. His aura rushed out in the form a great plume of blue flame beneath him, the force of the blast cushioning him as he landed. Not sparing a look back up at the building, he sprinted as fast as he could down the now empty street.

Back up in the now ventilated office building, the man known as Sparks gave a loud sigh as he watched Malcolm Turquoi vanish into an alley. He gave a friendly wave to their helpful sniper across the street, then turned back to the room. The white haired Faunus gave him a small shrug, as the massive man near the door stood to his full height again and set his shield aside to reveal the former hostages. The president of the company looked ready to pass out, while the secretary was hiding her face in her hands, bawling her eyes out.

"Sorry, Le- I mean, Titan," Sparks corrected himself as the massive gave him a glare when he almost used his real name, "he got away."

"It's not the desired outcome but at least the hostages are safe," Titan responded as he leaned his sword against the wall removed his helm, revealing close cropped chocolate brown hair and a rugged yet handsome tanned face. His dark eyes twinkled with something Sparks didn't recognize as he looked at the former captives again then turned to the white-haired wolf Faunus.

"Sorry about that, Phantom. It must have been hard to fight people that originally just wanted to help Faunus," the imposing hoplite apologized, earning another shrug from the man now known as Phantom.

"It's alright, my friend. They have lost their way and it is our duty to set them on the correct path again," he informed his much larger leader, absently kicking one of the White Fang soldiers he had downed with his daggers to make sure he was still alive. The source of the earlier gunshot being revealed as he held up his hands. In the right was one of the strange industrial daggers, while in the left was a custom black Colt 1911 Long Slide handgun. Oddly enough, along the underside of the barrel of the pistol was a somewhat large block of white metal. The reason for this was revealed as the dagger in his right hand changed. The single-edged blade folded down and receded to reveal the barrel and slide of another 1911, before compacting down into another aforementioned block of white metal as the now revealed gunbarrel and slide pitched forward to bring the hunk of metal back into its proper gun-like shape as a trigger-guard slid out of the slid to fold into the grips of the gun while the trigger unfolded from the underside of the slide and barrel, finalizing the weapon's transformation into a second Colt 1911 Long Slide that matched the first in appearance.

"If you're sure," Titan nodded to the slightly shorter warrior, leaving his sword leaning against the wall with his helmet sitting next to it as he touched the comm-link in his right ear with the corresponding hand.

"Beacon HQ, this is codename Titan, over."

"Titan, this is Beacon HQ, over," came a response after several seconds, in the voice that any who had ever visited Beacon Academy would recognize as Professor Glynda Goodwitch.

"Hostages are secured. Captured ten low-level White Fang members, leader of group has escaped. Confirmed as Malcolm Turquoi, over," Titan recited in the combative military jargon he had been trained to use when summarizing a mission.

"Copy that, Titan. Police are on their way to apprehend the terrorists and relieve you of the hostages. Good work out there, Team Bulwark. Over and out."

"Over and out," Titan said as he flashed a smile at his team, before switching back to local comm. "Breez- Sorry, Kazue. Go ahaed and come back. HQ gave us the green," even as the words left his mouth, sirens could be heard rapidly approaching the area. "Mission Success, Team."

* * *

One hour later, the group now identified as Team Bulwark was back at Beacon Academy. They hurried to strip themselves of their gear and store it in their lockers as the hour of night pushed passed one in the morning. The three identified on-mission as Sparks, Phantom and Breeze merely stowed their weapons and comm-links, while Titan had more to do. The large hoplite removed his armor piece by piece until all that remained were his dark brown trousers, crimson hard-soled boots, and the crimson short-sleeved shirt. Once the group had stowed their equipment, they made their way to the office of the famous Professor Ozpin.

"Good morning," Ozpin joked as they entered, mug in hand. He stood behind his desk, large office filled with many bookshelves and several comfortable-looking leather seats. The green-clad Professor wasted no time getting a debriefing form the team, and once it was done he smiled at them.

"Abel Blackthorn," he said, his gaze falling on the white-haired wolf Faunus codenamed as Phantom.

"Leonidas Rosso," this was the towering individual known on-mission as Titan.

"Alastair Wintergale," followed, as his gaze fell on the young man known as Sparks.

"And Kazue Murasaki," he finished, looking at the bunny-eared girl that was almost comically short compared to her teammates.

"Team BLWK, I congratulate you on a job well done," he told them, pride sounding in his voice and getting smiles from all four in attendance. "But these recent events have left me worried. As such I will be making amendments to how things run here at Beacon. You are second years, so I will go ahead and tell you. I will be selecting specialized teams to perform some of the more dangerous missions from now on, as most full-fledged Huntsman and Huntresses are busy trying to track down Roman Torchwick and the main leaders of the White Fang. This is nothing new to you, but what may shock is that starting tomorrow, I will be assigning every seasoned team of second years a group of first year teams to watch over. Yours will be teams Juniper and Rwby, whom I'm sure you witnessed at the Initiation Ceremony. The third will be Team Reaper, a team you have not yet met, but shall be introducing tomorrow at an assembly," he informed the team of warriors, getting surprised looks from all but Abel.

"I know you have many questions," Ozpin cut them off before they could speak, lifting his cane as if to prevent them. "But the hour is late and the assembly will be held early at 7AM, so I suggest you all get your rest. You are dismissed."

Their training and discipline as warriors of Vale stifled Team BLWK's questions as they all stood at attention, clipping their heels together and bringing their right hands to their brow to salute, "Yes, sir!" Without another word the team filed out, leaving Ozpin to himself.

"I fear I was not wrong," he murmured to himself as he peered out one of the many large windows of his office. "This year is turning out to be very interesting, after all."

* * *

**And done! Hello all, I am Relks the Disturbed. Some of you may know me from my work on Fallout: The Journey Forward. Well, my muse jumped ships on me and now I'm here writing on RWBY. I have no intention to give up on The Journey Forward, but a hiatus is needed. This is my first try in the RWBYverse, so please be gentle though criticism is welcome. As some of you may notice, I mentioned Team Reaper right near the end. This is a callout to Puppeteer of the Realms' story Team REPR, as we will be collaborating our two stories together and having the two teams meet up at various points in our plots. **

**As always, please leave a review if you could. Again, this is Relks the Disturbed, bringing you a new look into the world of Remnant!**

**P.S. I sooo did not proofread this so please be gentle.**


	2. Chapter 2: So It begins!

**Alright. After seeing that I got a note worthy drop in views with the second chapter, along with going back and re-reading it. I came to the conclusion that my original second chapter of this project did one thing and one thing only: SUCKED! Looking back I realized I didn't put anywhere near my maximum effort with this part of the story, and I decided to change that. Henceforth, I have re-written Chapter 2, making it all around better than before. It still keeps many of the same things from before, though now they are much improved. If you liked the original version better, I apologize, but I could not just sit by while I knowingly gave less than my best with this. **

**That all being said, please, enjoy the new and improved Chapter 2 of A Wall Against The Dark!**

* * *

A young Leonidas Rosso woke to the quiet drone of his alarm clock, the steady ringing not quite loud enough to be obnoxious but jarring enough to wake him. The boy unleashed a monstrous yawn and stretched in bed, eyes still shut. Brown eyes the color of milk chocolate blinked several times before a smile spread across the young boy's face.

"It's finally the day!" he grinned as he leapt from the blankets of his bed and onto the floor. His room was not very big, only a ten feet by ten feet square, but it was his. An ornate painting of a man in glimmering bronze armor holding a sword and shield and standing before a large Ursa Major decorated the eastern wall of the room, a short and wide dresser standing beneath it. Leonidas's bed was against the western wall, while a desk piled high with writing utensils and books on everything from arithmetics to Grimm-biology stood against the northern wall of the room. The south wall was occupied by a rack holding several wooden training swords on the eastern end, while his bedroom door took up the south-west corner of the south wall. All four of said walls were colored the same dark burgundy red, Leonidas's favorite color.

"Gotta hurry and find Dad," the happy youth laughed as he quickly walked over to his dresser, tossing aside the dark red shorts he had worn to sleep in. Young Leonidas's body was long and lanky, the boy already standing at five feet and three inches, his shoulders and the rest of him still catching up to the sudden jump in height he received when he hit puberty. Thin, wiry muscle contrasted to his lanky frame, as the teen threw on a crimson t-shirt and a pair of brown pants. He tugged on socks and shoes fast as he could, absently running his left hand through his short black hair to push away any leftover messiness in his hair from sleeping. "Today's the day I get to make my shield!" he told himself, nearly giddy with excitement.

Leonidas left his room at a practical run, slamming the wooden door behind him as he sped down the hallway from the northern end of his house towards the living room. His home was modest and practical, not huge but plenty big enough to house the growing teen and his parents. Leonidas vaulted over the arm-rest of the chair near the northern entrance to the living room and he stopped to look at the mantle above the fireplace. Mounted there above the stonework arch was a three and a half foot long sword, blade polished to a pale gleam. The brass-colored half-moon crossguard that separated the hilt from the blade gleamed in the morning light coming through the windows and the lion etched into the round pommel seemed to roar at Leonidas even as his eyes settled upon it.

"Keep staring like that and you might rust the old thing, Leonidas," a deep voice spoke up from behind Leonidas.

"Good morning, Dad!" Leonidas spun on his heels to see his father standing over him with a kind smile. Leonidas's father, Alcaeus, was a large man standing at six feet and four inches tall, with broad shoulders and a thick black beard trimmed close to his jaw. His features were strong, his glimmering hazel eyes only adding to this. His long black hair was pulled back in a lazy ponytail, the streaks of gray at his temples and the slight lines appearing more and more each year across his face the only indication that he was a man getting on in years. Alcaeus wore clothes similar to that of his son, with a crimson tunic with brown trimmings, tan pants clothed his legs and his feet were bound by strong leather sandals that wrapped partially up his calf.

"Good morning, kiddo," Alcaeus greeted his one and only son, bending down slightly to ruffle the boy's hair.

"Dad…. I told you I hate when you do that," the young teen whined as he tried to fix his hand back into place, eyes darting from Alcaeus to the sword above the mantle and back to his father.

"You'll never be too old for me to tease," Alcaeus smiled down, bringing his hand up to where Leonidas's head stopped at his sternum. "Though I may not have a choice when you're older. Seems you're liable to grow bigger than _me_!"

The pair shared a laugh as the sound of the kitchen door opening called their attention. A beautiful woman, long dark hair curling elegantly down the left side of her front as she walked with grace in the blue jeans and red blouse that complimented her, walked into the room. She placed her hand on her hip and gave Alcaeus a sly smile.

"I've told you, honey, he's going to be a big, strong man, just like his dad," she chided as she walked over and placed a chaste kiss on her husband's lips, standing on her toes to do so.

"Minerva, don't embarrass the boy," Alcaeus smiled to his wife, both turning to Leonidas and smiling at him.

"Let's get breakfast, then we'll-" Minerva's words were cut off as an explosion sounded all throughout the village. Alcaeus shared a look with his wife and moved away from the beautiful woman, going to the mantle and taking down his sword.

"Take Leonidas down to the basement, I'll see what the commotion is," Alcaeus told his wife, moving towards their bedroom at the western side of the house. He emerged moments later with a large bronze-colored shield, at just over three feet across. A man standing with a sword held at the ready was stamped as a silhouette on the front of the shield, as the head of the house moved through the house with urgency.

"Mom? What's going on?" Leonidas asked as he tried to move to the window to see. Gentle yet strong arms intercepted him, pulling him to the small hallway along the wall of the living room. At the end of the hallway was a trap door, metal handle settled down into the wood so that one would be able to cover the door without a problem should they choose.

Minerva grasped the handle and yanked up sharply, as the sound of the front door barging open jolted both mother and son. Alcaeus appeared in the hallway, eyes wide and sword stained with fresh dark blood. The way his hazels eyes now looked about the house with fervent control, and the slight wispy gray glow radiating from him, told Minerva all she needed to know.

"Grimm are attacking. They've breached the outer wall," Alcaeus spoke with a forced calm, his hand clenching tighter on the sword. "Get in the basement with Leonidas."

"I'm not letting you battle those monsters alone, especially not with your leg the way it is," Minerva instantly argued, mother and wife inside her both screaming to act. Her eyes landed quickly on Alcaeus's left knee, the one he had injured defending people from the monsters that now threatened their village so long ago..

"I don't have time to argue about this!" Alcaeus yelled at her, rage suffusing his worry and settling the fear that had been crawling into Leonidas's heart into full panic.

"Dad, you come down with us!" Leonidas asked, pulling against his mother's arms as he tried to move to his father.

"No, son, I have a duty to the people of this village. I swore to protect people from the Grimm, swore my life as a Hunter, and just because I'm retired doesn't mean I can stand by when they come to my home," Alcaeus's voice was strong and even, despite the panic Minerva could clearly see budding in his hazel orbs.

"I'm helping you, no buts," Minerva spoke quickly, pushing Leon to the ladder that led down into the basement. "Sweetie, I need you to be brave and stay down there while your father and I help repel the attack," she told her son, smiling at him as she kissed his forehead. Leonidas nodded quickly and did as his mother told, knowing from her tone that there was no room for argument and that his parents knew what was best.

"Thank you, honey," his mother smiled at him as he began to descend the latter. The basement lit up automatically when the door was lifted, so you couldn't fall or hurt yourself inside. Leon touched the ground almost eight feet below, and walked over to the wall and flipped the switch that would keep the light on should the trap door shut.

"We'll be back in no time," Minerva called down confidently before she shut the door above him.

Leon spent his time sitting in the corner of the basement, legs curled up to his lanky frame as he wrapped his arms around his knees. Time blurred for him as he stared into the wall, worrying for his parents.

He was pulled from his stupor by the sound of a sudden crash above him, quickly followed by several more. The sounds of something hitting hard metal barely reached his ears, before a roar tore through the already prevalent sounds. A short scream followed, and then silence.

"_Minerva!_" Alcaeus's voice shattered Leonidas as he realized the short scream had been his mother.

The sounds of battle above continued as Leonidas launched himself to his feet and rushed towards the ladder. Going hand-over-hand as fast as he could, Leon hit the top of the ladder in seconds. He pushed up against the door, but the wood stood stout.

"C'mon, open!" Leonidas cursed quietly under his breath. He pushed down on the ladder with one hand while pushing up on the door with the other, slowly pushing the door open. Leonidas was barely able to get it halfway open, but scrambled to crawl through the gap.

His breathing heavy, he nearly screamed as he turned to see the dead torso and head of a Beowolf had been on top of the door, weighing it down. Panic searing through his veins like cold fire, Leonidas was on his feet and moving into his living room before he even knew what happened. There he would see the images that would haunt him for the rest of his days:

His parents were dead. Slaughtered by the Grimm as they had tried to make it back to the home, to their son. Blood, crimson as the shirt on Leonidas's own chest, pooled on the formerly polished wooden floor. At the threshold to the hallway lay his mother. Deep gashes carved through the muscles of her back, broken bone showing through the horrid wounds as blood seeped up and out over her body. Her eyes looked down the hallway, flat and lifeless, as her arm still reached out towards Leonidas from the ground.

Beyond his mother's corpse was his father's sword, cast aside in some struggle. Leonidas saw why as the monster in the room came into focus. It was an Alpha Beowolf, so large it seemed giant in their modest home. The creature of Grimm was positioned over the body of Alcaeus, several grievous wounds torn through his chest. His throat was missing and his eyes were wide, the life having been suddenly ripped from him as he had tried to help his wife.

They say your mind notices the strangest things when you go into shock. It was a heavily debated topic, but for Leonidas at least it was true. Everything came into sudden focus as his world fell apart. The way the light bounced off the growing pools of blood on the ground, the rippling of the Alpha Beowolf's muscles beneath its fur as it took a large bite from Alcaeus's torso, the gleam of dark Grimm blood on the once pristine blade of Secemo -his family's sword that had been passed down from father to son for generations- as it lay between the bodies of his parents.

Joy faded away. Denial rose in his heart and was crushed by Realization. Realization was drowned in a deluge of Grief. And finally Grief was burned to ashes by the flames of Hate. All in a fraction of a second.

"_**RAAAAAAAAAGH!**_" Leonidas screamed, pouring his heart into the sound, as his soul burned with a fury he had never known. Violent red Aura surged around him, a storm of crimson light that set the blood on the floor flickering as if aflame. The teen, now an orphan, moved on instinct as the Alpha Beowolf raised its head at him.

Leonidas found himself holding his father's sword in both hands without knowing when he had picked it up. He found himself dodging the quick claw swipe from the monster's left arm and burying the blade of Secemo in its chest. The battle cry of pure hatred and anguish tore out of his chest again, as he felt droplets of blood form in his throat as he ripped the soft tissues with the force of his agony.

For years he would not remember what happened after that. Blurred images of dead people, bodies mangled by and being devoured by Grimm. The pain that surged through his left arm as he held his father's shield, the Arx of Alcaeus Rosso, and Secemo, the blade of the Rosso line. The sounds of Grimm roaring in bloodlust as they saw him, his own wet screams of defiance as he charged the beasts back.

When Leonidas finally returned to his senses, he found himself sprawled out among dozens of wooden posts haphazardly forced into mounds of freshly overturned dirt. Four days passed between the attack on his village and Leonidas's mind returning, he would find out years later.

The Huntsmen and Huntresses of Vale were horrified when they arrived on the fifth day, to find a village of two hundred people had been reduced to a single young boy, too injured and broken to even move.

* * *

Leonidas awoke with a start in his bed in Team BLWK's dorm. He grimaced as the sunken, pink flesh of the three large scars across his chest, from left shoulder to his right ribs, ached in the early morning. His body was drenched in a cold sweat, and he looked down to find himself gripping the side of the bed frame so hard the wood splintered.

"The nightmare?" Alastair's voice asked calmly from Leon's left. The giant of a man realized with a jolt that the lights of the dorm room were on, and his teammates were awake. Alastair was sitting on his bed to Leon's left, looking at his colossal partner with a mix of concern and hesitation. The katana wielding Huntsman-in-training was clad in a pair of loose gray pants and a black sleeveless shirt, his sleepwear of choice. His blue eyes centered on Leon's own chocolate brown as he gave the hoplite a small, encouraging smile.

Leon swung his head to the right to see Abel and Kazue both sitting up, still under their blankets, looking at him with worry. Abel was closer to Leon, Kazue having taking the far end of the room to herself as the only girl, with a curtain hanging from the ceiling to separate her bed from the others, though this was pulled back now.

"You okay?" Kazue asked, violet eyes wide open as she stared at Leon. Her rabbit ears, damaged as they were, still bent forward in an unconscious gesture to show her concern. Comically enough, Abel's were stock straight, as he examined first Leon, then Leon's bed, then looked Leon in the eye.

"Y-Yeah," Leon spoke slowly, dropping back into his bed with a sigh. Taking a moment to examine his bed himself, he saw he'd ripped the sheets in his sleep and had knocked the small electrical alarm clock off the bookshelf next to his bed.

The team's dorm room was a bit larger than the first-years, a benefit of managing to pass their first year at the prestigious academy, and the four had already highly personalized it. Each of them had taken one fourth of the space available, though Kazue got slightly more due to her insistence on privacy.

Alastair's area was farthest to the right if one stood in the threshold of the door into the room, his bed pressed against the wall and a wide, three-level bookshelf bridging the gap along the far wall from his bed to Leon's. This doubled as Alastair's nightstand near his bed, and several books on swordsmanship, Aura usage, and a few novels were stacked neatly on the shelves nearer to his bed. Leaning against his bed, directly next to his pillow and headrest was his black sheathed katana, Tempest's Edge.

Leon was next, being on the middle left. His own bed was a bit longer and wider, to better accommodate for his size, while his side of the shared bookshelf on the left side of his bed was filled with books on combat strategy, technical manuals, and a thick tomed book that continued an anthology of epics. An alarm clock as positioned on top of the shelf, used as Team BLWK's universal wake-up call. The right side in the gap between he and Abel's beds was the main window of the room, which still showed the shattered moon in the night sky. Beneath the window was the fold-up table that the team would use for doing homework together, along with a small mini-fridge that contained their drinks of preference.

Abel's space, being on the middle right, was very neat and organized. The aforementioned window and folding table took up the space between his and Leon's beds, so Abel kept a small dresser on the opposite of his bed placed just before Kazue's curtain. It stood at just over three feet tall with three drawers, an incense holder and a Dust-o brand lighter sitting atop the dresser along with a book on philosophy. Inside the drawers he kept incense, some more of his books, and a small bag of beef jerky for when his wolfish tendencies got to him.

Lastly was Kazue at the far right of the room, a curtain separating her area from the rest of the boys' via a track pinned to the ceiling. On her side of the curtain she had a nightstand on the left side of her bed and a bookshelf on the right, a partially disassembled handgun and several small tools laying on the bookshelf atop an old Guns & Blades magazine. On the nightstand was a small make-up kit and a nail file, the only apparent objects of her femininity. The bookshelf was loaded down with different technical manuals and gun magazines, along with a blade care kit stuffed on the bottom shelf.

At the foot of each bed was a compartmentalized trunk, where each team member kept their various school supplies and papers. Both the far right and far left walls had closets, the one on the right shared between Leon and Alastair while the one on the left was split between Kazue and Abel, much to the wolf's chagrin. Next to the door leading out into the dormitory hallway was a coat rack, from which Alastair, Kazue, and Abel's coats and jackets all hung.

"At least I didn't destroy the room like last time," Leon finally sighed as he sat back up and looked at the clock. The digital timepiece read 5:30am, and Leon shook his head as he swung his long, muscular legs off his bed and stood.

"Yeah, that wasn't fun to clean up," Alastair agreed with a wry grin as he too stood and gave Leon a playful punch on the shoulder. "How about we get breakfast?" he offered to his teammates.

"Breakfast sounds awesome," Kazue sighed as she slipped out from under her blankets and reset the sheets. She had worn a pair of purple pajama bottoms and a white shirt with a pair of purple crossed pistols on it, a yawn escaping as she pulled the curtain to get dressed.

"I second that," Abel contributed as he too slipped out of bed, barely disturbing his blankets. The white-haired wolf Faunus had worn only a pair of black pajama pants to sleep, his lean yet muscular torso pale in the late moonlight as he gave a small yawn. Leon suppressed a smile of his own as he noticed the white-haired wolf absently tapping his foot as he waited for Kazue to get dressed.

Alastair wordlessly walked over to his and Leon's own closet, throwing a pair of brown pants and a crimson shirt to Leon so the hoplite could dress as well. The leader of Team BLWK caught his clothes and shot his partner a raised eyebrow, before pulling on the dark red shirt over his muscular, scarred chest.

"Unless you wanna see a bunch of half-naked guys, I'd keep that curtain pulled," Alastair warned as he tossed off his black sleeveless shirt and pulled on a clean white shirt with long sleeves from the closet.

"Normally, I'd like that offer. But considering it's you goofs, I'll pass," came Kazue's snarky reply from behind the curtain, before it pulled back just enough to reveal a black-sleeved arm that threw a navy blue t-shirt and black jeans at the back of Abel's head, the pant-legs wrapping around the white-haired young man's shoulders.

Abel's wolf ears twitched slightly in irritation as he took his clothes and began to dress as well, his Aura flaring for a moment as a shadow copy of himself ran through Kazue's curtain. A surprised yelp came from behind the curtain a moment later, before the curtain flew back and Abel had to step to the side to avoid the partially built handgun that would have impacted with his head.

"Ow…" Alastair muttered calmly as the side of the skeletonized innards of the handgun peeled away from his face and clattered to the floor. "You're lucky we all have our pants," he told Kazue flatly.

Alastair was now fully dressed minus his shoes, his white long sleeved t-shirt contrasting greatly with the grey jeans he wore beneath them. Leon on the other hand was finishing securing his belt while Abel was still shirtless. Needless to say, the deadpan reaction from Alastair combined with their recently dressed states managed to shut Kazue up from spouting off another witticism.

"Now, breakfast?" Abel asked with an amused smirk as he pulled his shoes out from under his bed and pulled them on, swiftly and expertly lacing them in moments.

"Agreed!" came the unanimous cheer from Leon, Kazue and Alastair, the three all pulling their shoes on as well. With a final quick look over themselves and each other, Team BLWK approved themselves to leave. Abel and Kazue grabbed their coats as they left, Alastair hurrying to strap on Tempest's Edge and its sword-belt before he caught his own coat, courtesy of Kazue.

"Can we not throw things at me anymore?" he joked as they filed out of the room.

* * *

The team had all taken showers before going to bed the night before, allowing them all plenty of time to make it to the cafeteria before the first years started piling in to grab a quick breakfast before the Assembly. Alastair held the door for his teammates, getting nods of thanks from all of them as they entered. Due to it being earlier than six o' clock in the morning, only the severest early risers and the kitchen staff were awake.

"Morning, Bulwark," one of the kitchen crew, a woman in her mid forties with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes, smiled at them as they arrived at the line to get their food. Or rather, it would have been a line if not for that fact only five other people were even in the cafeteria at the time. Professor Oobleck was seated at a far table away from the food retrieval area, already on his third cup of coffee as he flipped through a history book. The green-haired speedster gave the team a small smile as he picked himself up from the table, mug in one hand and book in the other. Abel was the only one who caught the gesture as the others were getting their food, and he nodded and gave a short wave back to the Professor before Oobleck vanished out of the room in a blur of movement.

"Boiled eggs, a salad and bread with honey,_ again?_" Kazue asked as she saw exactly what her team leader was filling his plate with.

"And a pint of milk plus my coffee," Leon said with a small smirk as he took his breakfast tray up. "Thank you, Midna," he thanked the blonde member of the kitchen crew.

"You're welcome, Leon," Midna told the large young man, her blue eyes twinkling as she settled on Kazue's tray. "You aren't one to talk, Miss Cereal and Orange Juice."

"It's not Pumpkin Pete's and orange juice is good for you," was Kazue's defense as she walked away, cheeks puffed slightly at having been outdone.

Midna chuckled as she served up a pile of scrambled eggs and bacon to Alastair and Abel, though she tossed a few extra sausage links as well as a large chunk of ham onto Abel's plate. Alastair frowned as he noticed this and raised an eyebrow at Midna.

"Why are you giving him so much?" he asked, noticing that lately Abel had been eating much more.

"Because I'm a Wolf and you're a little lamb," Abel joked, lips cracking into a broad smile that highlighted the more pronounced canine teeth that most dog, wolf, and other such Faunus were known to have.

"He's right. Besides, Alastair, you and I both know you eat big lunches," Midna nodded and teased, placing an extra scoop of eggs onto Alastair's plate with a mocking smile.

"Yeah, yeah, thank you, Midna," Alastair said as the kitchen worker laughed, taking the coffee mug she extended to him.

Once all the members of Team BLWK had their meals, they sat down at a table near the windows, watching the fractured moon sink lower towards the horizon as they ate their breakfasts. Leon ate quietly, neatly slicing up his boiled eggs and mixing them with his salad as he ate it with a fork. Abel ate a bit more quick in his actions as he speared a sausage link and devoured it in seconds before washing it down with a sip of his morning tea. Alastair shared a look with Kazue towards their ravenous partners, both smiling slightly as Alastair scooped up some of his eggs on his fork and Kazue spooned her healthy oats and granola cereal into her mouth.

"So, what do we know about these teams we're supposed to be taking care of?" Alastair broke the silence at just past six in the morning, taking a bite of bacon.

"Well, Team RWBY and Team JNPR are both somewhat famous as of late," Leon spoke up after he finished chewing a bite of his honeyed toast. "They're the two teams that took down the Nevermore and the Deathstalker during their initiation a few months ago. And from what I've heard, JNPR has the famous athlete Pyrrha Nikos on their team."

"Wasn't she the girl on the Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes box?" Kazue inquired, glass of orange tipping back seconds later.

"Yeah, that's the one," Leon nodded, sipping at his coffee with a contented sigh.

"Team RWBY also has the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company among its ranks, along with that young girl who got skipped up by Professor Ozpin himself. What was her name… Ruby? Yes, that's it. Ruby Rose," Abel spoke up as he finally stopped his speed eating to sip at his tea. While the others were only halfway through their breakfasts, he had already devoured most of his with his chunk of ham being all that remained.

"Weiss Schnee?" Alastair asked as he sipped his own coffee, getting a nod from Abel, who was busy cutting his ham into bite-sized pieces. "I met her a couple times when i was a kid. Social events with all the company big-wigs at my family's company and hers. She was nice enough, a little stuck up, but nice."

"So, all in all, we have a bunch of random people that got thrown together?" Kazue paraphrased, raising an eyebrow as her good rabbit ear twitched in curiousity.

"Basically," Leon nodded, getting laughs from the rest of his team. If there was one thing they had learned in their time at Beacon, it's that the rag-tag bunch of misfits usually got the most done. Hell, Leon's idol Talia Emryl was apart of one of the most misfit teams in Beacon's history.

Breakfast for Team BLWK ended not long after that. The four made small talk as they put their trays in the designated area and made their way out of the cafeteria. By this time, students were going to and fro, trying to make it to the cafeteria fast enough to scarf down a small meal before the Assembly. First and Second Years sped past the already-fed Team BLWK, the blonde haired leader of Team GLNT(Gallant) giving them a quick nod as he made his way to the cafeteria, no doubt waking up after the rest of his team

"George still fails to get up early, as per usual," Kazue casually observed as she and rest of BLWK made their way to the amphitheater that also served as a main auditorium when the overhead panels slid out t make a roof.

"Can you blame him? Tanya is not the quietest of sleepers,' Abel quipped as the team left the main school building and began down one of the paved pathways that guided students from building to building along the massive school grounds.

"At least she doesn't _throw guns at teammates_," Alastair jibed, ducking to avoid a slap from Kazue. "Hey, I'm allow to joke!"

"Cut the chatter and let's go, guys," Leon cut through the happy banter, as they rounded a corner and came in side of the amphitheater. "We need to get upstairs before the speech starts."

* * *

Twenty minutes later and Team Bulwark was positioned in the balconies on the second floor of the amphitheater, overlooking the main floor and stage below. Abel leaned against one of the many stout pillars that ran along the second floor of amphitheater, absently watching the sky slowly lightening with the raising sun through a window. Leon, Alastair and Kazue all casually leaned on the railing, Alastair and Kazue leaning forward with their arms resting on the rail while Leon leaned on it with his hip, as he was too tall to do as they were.

"I think I see two sets of our charges now," Alastair commented as he spotted the distinctive red cloak that was the trademark of one Ruby Rose. The motley crew of Teams RWBY and JNPR following behind the young girl also came into sight, as students began chatting amongst themselves to pass the time. This was cut to a sudden halt as the mechanized panels above the amphitheater moved to darken the room, a stage light above focusing on the raised platform at the back of the room.

There stood Professor Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon Academy and one of the most feared and respected men in all of Remnant. Clasped in his right hand was his almost ever-present coffee mug, as the green-clad Professor leaned slightly on the cane in his left hand. His dark eyes swept over the student body, both on the ground floor and above, before he began speaking.

"Young huntsman and huntresses, in light of recent events-" the Professor paused, eyes peering down into the dark liquid of his coffee for a moment before he continued, "it has come to my attention that certain, individuals have been taking unnecessary liberties here in Vale. We have enjoyed an incredible period of peace in the past years, and I fear that soon, the peace will falter. With that in mind, I have taken this chance to put certain precautions into place here at the Academy, to help protect the student body and the public at large."

Professor Ozpin paused to let the weight of his words settle in, though BLWK knew what was coming as Ozpin had dropped the bombshell on them the previous night. Murmuring and hurried whispers sprung up quickly among both the students and even some of the staff, catching Abel's surprise as he stepped up to the railing as well to see what was coming next.

'I suppose he kept the secret from even some of the staff,' The white-haired wolf Faunus thought to himself as he stood next to Kazue, peering down at the stage below.

"With both pride, and trepidation, I would like to bring four of Beacon's brightest, most elite students to join me on the stage." Abel caught movement in the darkness behind the stage, and noticed the small gesture Ozpin made as he finished his statement. Then he saw the four students in question begin walking up on the stage, one at a time, to form a neat row next to the Headmaster.

The four students looked quite out of place, each all covered in black with a secondary highlight color complimenting them. This was especially true for the shortest of the four, who wore a form fitting black longcoat with a hood. Said coat was strangely cut, with a large almost billowing left sleeve while the right sleeve seemed to be missing entirely, replaced from the shoulder down to the forearm with black bandages and several small belts. The hood itself was pulled up and over the person's head, with obvious time and effort spent in its almost ceremonious design. Most disturbing of all, however, was the person's face, or rather lack there-of. The person wore a mask beneath the hood, a plain, white oval thing that was eerily devoid of any distinct facial features, just a smooth plain with to circular black eye holes to see through, too dark to make out the person's eyes,

Standing on the far right of the group was a tall woman, easily the tallest of the four, as she stood stock straight at military stand-at-rest. She wore a button-up navy blue vest over a black long sleeved dress shirt, topped off with a black tie pulled tight at her throat. She had long black hair that was almost unnaturally straight as it cascaded down over her shoulders and back from beneath a stylish black beret. Contrasting her dressy shirt, vest and hat, she wore baggy black fatigues with large cargo pockets tucked into black combat boots with shining steel caps on the toes.

Left of the masked figure, at the far left side of the grouping, was a proud looking man with styled back crimson hair. He wore an intricate and noble looking black coat trimmed along the edges with red designs. Dark metal buttons gleamed up the middle of the coat beginning near where his navel would be and coming to a stop in the form of a tight-fit collar around his neck. The pant legs of grey pants could be seen peeking out from beneath the long cloak-like coat and going down the length of his legs until they reached the black combat boots that he wore, with visible steel caps along the toes to match the tall woman. Unlike her, however, his boots bore several scuff marks from wear and tear along the caps.

Between the cloaked figure and the tall woman stood another girl, nearly the polar opposite of the apparent noble on the left. This girl gave off an intimidating feeling, eyes ringed by thin, black eye liner making her ice-blue irises stand out. She was dressed in a gray t-shirt that stopped abruptly at her midriff, showing a lean and toned abdomen, beneath a black leather jacket. The jacket had many crisscrossing leather straps running across the shoulders and back of it, bound and held by several small buckles of bright white metal. Her hair was long and black, though unlike the first woman's, this girl's hair was billowing, flaring out slightly from her head and falling down her shoulders and back in sleight waves. A silver and black belt encircled her waist and held basic black jeans tightly in place, as the pant-legs gave way to black sneakers with white laces. All in all, the woman looked more like a biker than a Huntress.

"Well, aren't they an odd bunch?" Leon thought aloud as he finished looking them over, his right hand absently stroking his chin as he thought.

"This coming from the man who wears a full suit of bronze and crimson armor?" Alastair spoke to his partner with a raised eyebrow. "You can't exactly judge.

"Hush, you two, Ozpin looks like he's gonna talk again," Kazue cut it, shushing them both.

"I would like to introduce Roan Ashworth," the crimson-haired noble nodded his head slightly, "Vladimir Ebon," the cloak figure, now confirmed to be male, shifted as though uncomfortable. "Melania Pearl," the biker-esque woman glared at the audience before her, though nodded at her name. "and Natasha Raven," the blue and black clad woman on the right somehow managed to stand even straighter at the mentioning of her name.

"These four comprise Team REPR, and will personally act as my elite team tasked with keeping Beacon a safe haven. From now on, they will be living on the campus and attending class with the rest of their first-year classmates."

Leon Rosso found himself nodding slightly as he looked them over again, until he felt an elbow none-to-gently nudge his ribs. He turned his gaze to his left to Alastair, who was looking at the crimson-haired young man with a stern expression.

"He's a member of the Ashworth family," Alastair repeated, getting a slow nod from Leon as Kazue and Abel noticed their grey-clad teammate's distress. "He's actually a noble just like Weiss Schnee and myself. The Schnee's mine and refine the Dust, and the Wintergale's lead the robotics industry, but the Ashworth's take the cake with arms development."

"So he's, what, a gun-dealer?" Kazue asked, interest piqued at the concept of meeting the next-in-line to run the company that designed her sniper rifle.

"No, if that's the same Roan Ashworth that I'd heard about before I left for Beacon…." Alastair said, a small smile breaking across his face as he subconsciously gripped the hilt of his katana with his left hand, "then we're in for one hell of a time as their chaperons."

Any further discussion was cut off as all of Team BLWK felt their Scrolls go off in their pockets. Retrieving the device from his coat pocket, Abel's eyes widened as he read the message that his teammates had no doubt also received.

The teams you will be chaperoning are receiving their orders now.

Meet them in the main training hall in twenty minutes.

I expect you in full combat gear.

Ozpin.

Team BLWK shared one wide-eyed look together before they pushed away from the balcony, moving past the other second years who had gathered for the assembly. Twenty minutes was barely enough time to make it to the Second Year Lockerrooms, let alone make it all the way back across campus in full kit to the main training hall.

"I swear, sometimes Ozpin is a real slave driver!" Alastair gasped as they began sprinting down the pathways outside the amphitheather.

"D-Don't make us laugh," Leon said between breaths as he and the rest picked up the pace. Kazue began to easily outpace the others, her Rabbit Faunus heritage making her a superior runner to common humans like Leon and Alastair, and still faster than even other Faunus like Abel.

"Like Ozpin said at the beginning of the year, things are definitely going to be interesting!" Abel said as they rounded a corner, pushing desparately to make it on time.

* * *

**And a few thousand words later and there we have it! This one ended up being a doosy in comparison to the original, at a whopping 6,876 words before the authors notes. I hope you all enjoyed my new version of this part of the story. You can expect chapter four in the near future. **

**Thank you all, and see you soon.**

**Vale, my readers!**


	3. Chapter 3: Meetings, Threats and Tests!

**Well, I screwed the pooch trying to replace my old Chapter 2, so here you all go with Chapter 3 yet again! SORRY! Chapter 4 should by up by April 6th at the latest!**

**Alrighty, kiddos. Let's get this ball rollin'. The set up has ended, the legacy of four quartets of badasses unleashing pure unadulterated fucking majesty upon your face has begun. Buckle your seat-belt, chuckles, because you're in for one wild ride. TIME FOR CHAPTER THREE!**

**P.S. Relks the Disturbed would like to apologize. Relks the Disturbed has been watching Epic Meal time, and just finished "The Blind Bandit" of Avatar: The Last Airbender. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own RWBY, it is the property of Monty Oum and Roosterteeth. I am merely a catalyst of the imaginative recluse that dwells within the tortured and webbed cage of my mind. (*cough* emo *cough*)**

* * *

As Team BLWK and the other second-years made their hasty exits from the balconies above the first-years at the assembly, Professor Ozpin took his leave from the stage to allow Glynda Goodwitch to take his place. As was typically the case, Professor Ozpin had delivered the shocking news to the student body that would inevitably change things for the foreseeable future, while Glynda was left to organize the horde of young adults.

"Ahem," the strict blonde coughed into the microphone, silencing the murmuring gossip that had taken to the crowd like a plague. The whispers died as she gave the whole of the crowd her patented stern glare, a small smirk finding its way to the woman's lips as the students calmed down to listen.

"As Professor Ozpin has stated, we have begun to implement extra security measures to insure the safety of all of our students here at Beacon Academy," Glynda began, her left hand absently adjusting her glasses back up the bridge of her nose to their proper resting place, "These include a new chaperon policy. Starting today, all first-year teams will be given a second-year team to serve as their chaperons, three first-year teams to each second-year team. You will receive more detailed instructions in your scrolls, which I encourage you to check now."

A new team and we get to meet the second-years? Young Ruby Rose thought to herself with borderline ecstasy as she retrieved her scroll. Simultaneously, the remaining members of Team RWBY and all of Team JNPR received nearly identical messages onto their scrolls. Ruby, however, was too preoccupied reading her own scroll to notice.

"Team RWBY,

You have been assigned, along with Team JNPR, to be chaperoned by Team BLWK.

As a special exception, due to the great feats you two teams accomplished during Initiation, you will also have the privilege of being grouped with our now-infamous Team REPR, treat them well.

Make your way to the main training hall, Team REPR and your chaperons will be waiting. Come combat ready.

Ozpin."

Ruby let out an almost ear shattering squeal of glee as she finished reading the message and quickly stuffed her scroll away, turning to her friends with a giant smile on her face, "Can you guys believe it? We get to work with Team REPR! This is so cool!"

Weiss Schnee, ever the high-class heiress, gave her partner a reproachful look, "Now, Ruby, I know you are excited, but I expect you to be on your best behavior when we meet them. Professor Ozpin himself selected them as a team, and they all looked skilled. I won't have you embarrassing me during our first meeting with them."

"Chill out, Princess," came Yang Xiao Long, playfully pushing the heiress's shoulder as the white-themed girl attempted to be imposing on their team leader, off-balancing Weiss almost to the point of falling with her sudden strength. "They're first-years just like us. No matter how good they may be, they're still our age. Things might be different for a Schnee heiress, but for us normal girls meeting other people our age is normally a pretty informal gig," the blonde brawler told her snow-haired teammate, getting an absolutely frosty glare as the fencer righted herself after the push that almost knocked her down.

"Of course you wouldn't understand how important this is, you brute," Weiss scowled at Yang, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she turned her gaze to Blake Belladonna. "Well, what do you think, Blake?"

The book-loving young woman had been quiet thus far, content to listen absently as she thought about the team they had all just seen. They were intimidating, certainly. Especially the black and white accented girl with the wild hair. Blake had seen Beowolves shrink under a less hostile presence.

And then there's that Natasha Raven woman... Something about her seemed so familiar, but what could it be? pondered the golden-eyed ninja, before she noticed a black-sleeved arm waving back and forth in front of her face.

"Helllooo? Remnant to Blake," Ruby called, pitched forward in her boots as she tried to flag Blake's attention. "Calling Blake Belladonna."

Blake gave her head a single shake, refocusing on what her team was saying, "I'm sorry. I was lost in thought."

"It's okay, but Weiss asked you a question," Ruby said, her right arm raising and pointing, whole forearm jabbing twice with her index finger poised in the white-haired heiress's direction.

"I asked you what you thought about that new team," Weiss repeated herself calmly, arms still crossed in front of her chest.

"I think they looked super weird!" burst in Nora Valkyrie, spontaneously appearing next to Weiss. The sudden appearance of the hammer-wielding girl surprised Team RWBY, until they remembered they had been standing directly next to Team JNPR.

"I mean did you see that guy with the cloak?" Nora continued, ignorant of the indignant look Weiss was giving her. "Not the red haired one, the one with the mask. The red-haired one was weird, too, but the guy in the mask definitely had him beat. Why do you think he wears it? Oh! Maybe he's reeeally ugly under there and doesn't want anyone to see. Or maybe he's a Grimm disguised as a person, trying to sneak into our school..."

As Weiss began to open her mouth to retort to Nora's ridiculous claims, she was cut off by the rest of Team JNPR noticing their heavy-hitter had already started talking to Team RWBY. The three remaining members of Team JNPR joined the group conversation, a blessing as Ren was the only one who could pull Nora out of one of her rants.

"Nora."

"Yes, Ren?" the bubbly orange haired girl stopped midsentence, pivoting on her right foot to look away from Team RWBY and to her right where Ren stood along with Jaune and Pyrrha.

"I think Professor Ozpin would have noticed if he was a Grimm," the green-clad dual-gunner pointed out calmly, earning a look of wonder from his childhood friend.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Nora conceded, the others taking their chance to join the conversation.

"Nora's right, though," Jaune stepped forward, all eyes on him as he took the spotlight. Since the Forever Fall incident and the resulting training from Pyrrha, Team JNPR's leader had become much more confident, even if he was still the 'loveable idiot stuck in a tree' as he was before. "They do seem pretty weird, and that Natasha girl was down-right scary."

"Perhaps we should reserve judgement for when we actually meet them?" Pyrrha advised wisely, getting slow nods from everyone, even the self-assured heiress.

"Well then what are we waiting for?" Weiss said, hand on her hip as she spoke. "Let's get going."

The rest of their group nodded and all began walking briskly towards the main training hall. Luckily for them, the first-year locker room was near the hall and they were all able to pick up their weapons on the way to the hall.

The two teams made good time to the locker room, but it was there that they encountered a problem. More specifically, Team JNPR encountered the problem of Jaune forgetting his locker combination. A small sigh could be heard escaping Ruby as the blonde knight announced this. The red-themed scythe-wielder gave him a slight pout as he scratched the back of his head.

"You guys go on ahead, we'll catch up, after I get my stuff," Jaune offered, slightly ashamed that he had forgotten a code he'd been using for almost four months.

Ruby's face broke with a large smile as she heard this, "Okayseeyoutherebye," and she was gone, her Semblance carrying her out of the room faster than the eye could follow.

She arrived at the assigned meeting room not ten seconds later, skidding to a sudden stop outside the door. She took a small breath to calm herself down, then turned the knob and walked in. The sight before her would have been funny, if not for how shattering it was to her presumptions of Team REPR.

Inside, heated words were being thrown back and forth between the four members of the now infamous Team REPR. Roan Ashworth stood with his back turned and his arms crossed as Natasha chewed him out.

"Why can't you just act civilized for _one day_?! That's all I ask, one day so we can make a good impression," the beret-wearing girl pleaded.

"Civilized? How is pretending to be something I'm not civilized? Sounds more like _lying_ to me," Roan bit back, his scowl deepening some in the process.

"Something you're not?.." Natasha asked, pausing for a brief moment before continuing. "You are a noble! That counts for something, if not for the fact that you would rather throw away your birthright!"

"My _birthright_!? You seem to forget that I don't give two shits about my _birthright_. I became a Hunter to get _away_ from my family," Roan positively glowered. The table he was leaning against quivered strangely, before Roan pushed himself off from it. He took a step closer to Natasha, anger radiating from his own red eyes. It was in this brief pause that Ruby noticed the crimson-haired boy had forgone his ornate cloak, the article of clothing draped over a nearby chair nonchalantly. Now that she could see what was under the cloak, his appearance was a stark contrast to the one presented at the assembly.

His crimson locks were no longer neatly slicked back, but dishevelled and wild atop his head with a small, level fringe of hair covering the right half of his forehead. His clothes were even more outlandish compared to before. He wore a sleeveless shirt, the cloth dirty red like aged rust, gray cargo pants held tied to his waist by a simply black cloth belt bound by two metal rings, and a pair of black combat boots with scuff marks on the visible steel caps at the front of the footwear. The supposed noble looked practically bandit-like in comparison to his previous dress.

To Ruby's surprise, the tall girl did not mirror the growing anger from the red-haired boy, instead, she matched his step forward and squinted her eyes, glaring into the glowing red irises of the noble. Roan held her gaze for a moment longer, before sighing as he stepped back from his team leader. The tension in the room almost visibly lifted at that moment, letting Ruby breathe a little easier.

"Alright, I got it, I was outta line. But I ain't dressing like some corporate rat just to make you or anyone else happy," Roan said, his crimson eyes flicking over to Ruby at the door. "We have a guest," he spoke in a mock noble accent.

Natasha's eyes widened for a moment, as her features went somewhat slack. Ruby almost expected the military-themed girl to blush, but instead she simply stood straight, and her features sharpened again.

"I-... I'm sorry you had to see this." Natasha threw one last glare from the corner of her eye to the now relaxed noble, an almost knowing glare which spoke volumes, but Ruby couldn't gleam it's meaning. "My name is Natasha, and this-" she paused and turned to the three others in turn, "-is Roan, Melania,-" who was sprawled out in nearby lounge chair and gave a tired, apathetic wave, "-and Vladimir." The latter was sitting in a very high window sill, almost ten feet off the ground, seemingly completely ignoring the heated words as his attention was buried in a book held with his right hand, which was bound in tight black wrappings along with the rest of his arm in contrast to the billowing sleeve which hid his left arm entirely.

Ruby's silver orbs widened as her vision panned up from the darkly clad young man to the great weapon casually perched against the windowsill above him, the blade gleaming brightly in the light, "Is that a SCYTHE!?"

The sound of an unfamiliar voice elicited Vlad's gaze to shoot up in search, however, Ruby could discern no emotion from the faceless visage of his mask. As the empty black holes of his mask settled on Ruby, his head ever so slightly tilted to one side, his hand shutting the book it held almost as an after-thought. Vlad grabbed the curved wooden staff of his weapon and hopped down from the ledge before slowly approaching the excited girl. "..Yes?" The sheer amount of uncertainty in his voice contrasted his appearance so completely, but Ruby was only focused on one thing.

"Wow, it's a traditional style, too! Did you make it?" The red-tinted brunette positively gushed as she zipped forward, moving at nigh-unseeable speeds around Vlad as she tried to see the scythe in every way possible. He stopped in his tracks as the red-themed girl sped past at blisteringly high speed. His head turned from side to side momentarily until she spoke again, from behind him. "I haven't seen a scythe like this since I trained with my Uncle Qrow."

"Um.. no I didn't." Vlad spun to look at Ruby face-to-face, both standing at nearly the same height. He changed his grip on his weapon so it was in front of him now, giving Ruby no reason to go behind him again.

"Did someone give it to you, then? It looks waaay too well-kept to just be someone's idea of a throwback weapon," Ruby continued on her glee-fueled rant, her hands hovering in front of her as her fingers twitched. It looked like it was taking all her restraint not to tear the bladed weapon from Vlad's grasp to get a better look at it.

"Yes, it was a gift.. from an old friend" Vlad's voice started to waver some as he slowly slid his hind-foot backwards. His shoulders started to slouch and his torso turned away, but her onslaught of questions continued.

"That's so cool!" Ruby cooed, leaning her upper body forward just enough that her face reflected in the mirror-like blade of the scythe. "I wonder what alloy they used to make the blade. Do you know? Metal normally doesn't shine like that unless it's valuable, like silver. But you can't use silver for blades. Is it titanium?"

Ruby had another question on the tip of her tongue before a hand gently sat on her shoulder, cutting off her train of thought and drawing her attention with a somewhat confused expression. As she turned to see who was behind her, she realized that she kept pushing Vlad further and further back until they almost hit the opposing wall. Natasha released her shoulder as she offered a sincere, almost sad expression to the excited teenage girl.

"Your name is Ruby, right?" the girl in question now turned to face Natasha, who slightly leaned to look her eye-to-eye. "Please understand, Vlad isn't the most, social person in the team. I'm sure you mean well, but you're somewhat upsetting him. Could you give him some space?"

"O-Oh," Ruby murmured, jostled from her weapon-love-rant to turn back to Vlad. "S-Sorry," she said sheepishly, taking a conscious step back and extending her hand towards her fellow scythe user.

"My name's Ruby Rose, It's a pleasure to meet you," she spoke with her best puppy dog face on.

Vlad quickly resumed his earlier disposition as he slightly bowed from the waist. "My name is Vladimir Ebon, it's nice to meet you too, Ms. Rose."

Ruby awkwardly withdrew her hand as she saw his bow, but gave an absolutely adorable smile as she bowed as well, "You can just call me Ruby."

At that precise moment, the remainder of Team RWBY made their way into the room. The trio was somewhat worse for wear, looking slightly fatigued as they had been made to rush after their leader. Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company, did not appreciate having to sprint outside of combat.

"Ruby! What have I told you about leaving us behind?" the white-haired girl chastised, an irritated scowl on her face as she surveyed Team REPR. "I am deeply sorry about her. I'm Weiss Schnee, a pleasure to meet all of you," she added, hands going through the practised motions of giving a curtsey as she dipped and rose again.

Blake Belladonna gave the four members of Team REPR a nod of acknowledgement, "Blake Belladonna."

As Team RWBY filed into the training room, Yang Xiao Long was the last to enter. The blonde brawler sauntered in, brimming with her usual confidence and radiance as she looked over the members of Team REPR, her gaze resting last on Roan.

_Well hello tall, dark and red_, she thought to herself as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

Roan caught her look as his gaze moved on from Blake Belladonna and settled on Yang's own eyes, then her hair, and finally her voluptuous figure. With a grin Team REPR hadn't seen in months, the crimson-haired ruffian moved from his place leaning against the table and strutted forward to stand just a few feet from the fiery boxer.

"I'm going to be straight with you," the shotgun wielding Reaper spoke, grin stretching his features. "We saw the clips from the Initiation, and I gotta say, you were _hot_."

"Did he just…" Blake Belladonna's eyes widened as she realized what Roan had just said,_ ...make a pun!?_

Yang Xiao Long was taken aback by the sudden words, the flirty line on her train of thought vanishing. She was Yang, _the_ Yang. Nobody out did her with puns! It was unheard of! And despite the sheer audacity of it, Yang caught a giggle escaping her throat, making Roan's grin grow even wider.

"Ahem," came the small cough as a loop of cable and several pieces of metal wrapped themselves neatly around Roan, before he was violently yanked back and thrown into a chair. "Melania Pearl," Melania spoke evenly as she stepped forward, the brunette biker and the blonde brawler locking eyes as the cable to Melania's sword condensed back down into an eccentric scimitar. They gave each other a once over, both having cut-off jackets and blooming hair.

"Got a problem?" Yang spoke up, murky whispers of red beginning to make their way into her eyes as she stepped forward.

"No, I don't have a problem, but you will if you don't back up, _bitch_," Melania replied with a positively venomous undertone, her dark eyes narrowed at the bright girl in front of her.

"Yang…" Ruby spoke cautiously, already seeing where this was going after that last quip from Melania.

"Melania!" Natasha barked, her body snapping rigid at the rudeness of her teammate.

"NORA!" came the sudden cry as a form of hyperactive pink and white topped with bright orange hair sprung up right between Melania and Yang, shocking the two out of their staring contest of doom.

"Sorry about the wait, guys," Jaune Arc's apology arrived in time with its owner, as the rest of Team JNPR walked into the middle of what could have been a blood-bath. Ever the nervous one, Jaune noticed the tension hanging above the two sharply contrasting yet similar women in the center of the room. "I think we just interrupted something…"

"And thank Dust you did," Roan groaned from his place in the chair, his right hand rubbing at the back of his head where it had it the wall during his less than graceful landing.

"THE MASK!" Nora exclaimed suddenly, rushing away from Yang and Melania and beelining straight for Vlad. Before the scythe-toting young man could even react, the pink-loving Valkyrie had almost grabbed his mask from his face. "I must know!"

Still somewhat shell-shocked from the earlier assault of questions, Vlad was rooted in place, like the gears in his head locked and he simply didn't know what to do. In a sudden streak of black edged by deep blue, Nora was spun one-hundred-eighty degrees. The speed stifled her momentum, as she was turned to face the door from which they had just entered. But now Natasha stood before her, clutching the bubbly girl's wrist with an iron grip.

"Easy, Momma-Wolf," Roan quipped from his place in the lounge chair, grinning like a fiend as the others in the room were blind-sided by Natasha's sudden dash after Nora.

Natasha slightly squinted her eyes and tilted her head, before she loosened her grip on Nora's hand. The orange-haired Huntress-in-training wasn't even seemingly fazed by the show of force as she hopped to the side and looked over the contrasting Natasha. "You're fast. How'd you do that?" Nora asked with a gleam of curiosity in the corner of her eye.

The black and blue Reaper ignored the question and turned to face the prying eyes of everyone watching the scene as it unfolded. "Okay, now that everyone is here, I need to lay down the law: Rule Number 1: Don't Touch Vlad's Mask. Very important. Rule Number 2-"

It was at this exact moment that the doors behind everyone burst open yet again, this time revealing the diminutive form of a girl in purple occupying the empty space once used by the doors. Towering behind her like the bronzed god of a forgotten era was a man so large and intimidating that Ruby heard Jaune gulp from several feet away. Behind the contrasting duo slouched two young men, slightly panting as their hands rested on their knees.

"It- It's not fair," the one on the left, clad in gray with a katana at his hip, gasped between breaths. "I mean, c'mon, she's a rabbit, that makes sense. But him being fine?" he said exasperatedly, pointing at the looming figure in front of them.

"H-his Semblance," was all the other boy, a taller Faunus with snow-white hair and wolf ears, responded with as much nonchalance as a man catching his breath could achieve.

"Ummmm….what?" Ruby Rose managed to process, the sudden rapid-fire turn of events from casual, to serious, to casual, to serious, to Nora having ruined her ability to think at the moment.

As if to answer any unasked questions, and resolve any unnecessary doubt, just moments after the four members of Team BLWK walked through the door, the headmaster of Beacon Academy, none other than Professor Ozpin came strolling in the now crowded training room.

"Good morning everyone. I'm sure there are plenty of answers to the mounting pile of questions, but they must wait. However, with everyone meeting their new chaperons, I need all of you to go through with your examinations." Ozpin would have left that to hang in the air, but the confusion in one student peaked.

"Examinations?" Jaune nervously spoke up from the back of the collected students, the blonde unsettled by the sudden presentation of a test.

Ozpin gave no response but other than a knowing grin and to take a sip from his ever present cup of coffee. With but a slight look of remorse at the cup of coffee in the Headmaster's hand, the titan of a man clad in bronze stepped forward. The 'gulp' was audible throughout the entire room as all the members of Teams RWBY, JNPR, and REPR had to tilt their heads back to look him in the eye.

"Indeed, examinations," his voice was deep and authoritative, almost beyond belief for a teenager. "My name is Leonidas Rosso, leader of Team BLWK. As you can guess, these are my teammates behind me," he continued, sweeping his right arm out to encompass the three older teens still in the threshold of the door.

"Kazue-" the rabbit-eared girl from before gave a slight nod, "Alastair-" the young man in gray waved casually. "And last but not least, Abel." The white-haired wolf Faunus gave everyone a slight bow as he was introduced.

"We are here to help you all on your journey to becoming successful Hunters and Huntresses," Leonidas continued, his great circular shield covering the left half of his body from his upper shins to his bicep. "And as such we must know what you are capable of. In order to do so, I have come up with a challenge for you all."

The three younger teams stirred restlessly as Leonidas took pause to let his words sink in. Oddly enough, Ruby found herself reminded much of how Ozpin would speak when talking to a group of students. Seeing that his words held the desired effect, Leonidas gave them all a grin and continued.

"A hunting expedition into the Emerald Forest," he elaborated, a quiet 'whoop' echoing from Yang and Ruby. "During which you must all demonstrate your abilities as Hunters-in-training. Much like Team RWBY and JNPR's Initiation, except with the change that instead of having to acquire relics, you must all make at least one notable kill."

The reactions were mixed as the news sank in among the twelve teens. Jaune noticeably paled as he fought the urge to whimper. Pyrrha turned her worried gaze to her leader, concern glimmering in the emerald depths of her eyes. Nora's face broke into an even wider grin, if it was possible, as she bounced in place next to Lie Ren, who looked stoic as ever.

Team RWBY, on the other hand, all felt fairly confident. Ruby and Yang shared a high-five. Weiss gave a self-assured smirk as she began planning what they should hunt. Blake gave no discernable reaction other than the almost imperceptible twitch of her bow, though none seemed to notice.

Standing near the forefront of the three teams, the members of REPR gave no visual indications of trepidation, nor confidence. Aside from Melania shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and Roan crossing his arms, they reacted as if this was normal.

"Glad to see everyone is up for it," Leonidas smiled at the group of teens confidently. "Everyone shall meet at the launch pads near the Emerald Forest in one hour. Until then, you are free to do as you will," with that the bronze colossus nodded at the group and turned on his heel, walking toward Professor Ozpin.

"I look forward to seeing how you all work together," Ozpin remarked to the three younger teams, turning and leaving the hall with Leonidas in tow.

An uneasy quiet fell over the room as Team BLWK gave everyone a quick nod and left, with the remaining students giving the shrinking backs of their chaperons confused expressions.

Yang was, as was usual, the first to speak up, "So, that was a thing."

* * *

**Whooo, damn. That was longer than originally anticipated. Okay, so I'm back from a short break. Girlfriend flew in to visit, good times abound, etc etc. Now I'm back after she sadly had to return home, ready and raring to get this ball a rollin'. If you notice any sudden changes in writing style, it is because Puppeteer of the Realms and I have found a writing program that allows both of us to work on a document at the same time in real time, so we are now semi-coauthoring these bad boys, meaning whomever 'owns' the story is the primary writer while the other works as a beta and helping hand. With this new program expect us to be bringing a new level in immersion between our stories, along with some more frequent updates as we no longer have to play file tag to keep in sync. **

**Puppeteer's tie-in to this should be out in the next couple-a days, so keep an eye out.**

**Vale, my dear readers, and remember: You are only truly alone when you close all others out. (will be posting little philosophical quips at the ends of chapters now.)**


	4. Chapter 4: Memories Of A Bitter Cold

**Okay, people, a few things. I know I missed my deadline, by the better half of a week. If you keep up with Puppeteer of the Realms, you'll see that he posted a short note explaining what happened. For those of you that don't: My computer crapped up on me for a few days and I had to fix it. After that, it was getting this beast of a chapter done all while working around work, my masochistic need of Dark Souls 2, and trying to finally start working out again. **

**Shitty excuses, I know, but that's what happened. Any-who-ha, I hope you all can forgive me with the sheer size of this baby. This is by far the largest chapter I've ever written for any of my projects.**

**With that said, let's get on to the show. And I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_**January 2nd, 07:15AM, 451 A.G.**_

"Excuse me, Headmaster Ozpin?" Leon asked in disbelief as he and Kazue caught their breath. Abel and Alastair had been left behind as Leon's long legs and Kazue's nimble heritage carried them both far ahead of the two remaining members of BLWK. Kazue leaned against the wall quietly, her sniper rifle left behind in exchange for her close quarters weapons, tucked neatly away under her jacket.

"I said, you must devise a trial for your charges," Ozpin repeated himself calmly, sipping from his ever present coffee mug to hide a grin at the look on Leon's face. "You will need to understand their abilities, Team REPR especially so, and so you must orchestrate a test for them."

"Hmmm," Leon sighed into his hand, as the sound of hurried footsteps echoed closer down the hall. "I suppose I'll just have them bag the biggest, meanest beast they can," he shrugged.

"Really, Leon? 'Kill the biggest monster you can'?" Kazue said, as she stood straight as her improved hearing caught Alastair and Abel only a little ways down the hallways, just before they rounded the corner.

"That will do," Ozpin said with a rueful smile, moving towards the door. "Enter at your own leisure, though time is of the essence."

"Yes, sir," Leon inclined his head in salute. The titanic warrior noticed his comrades had finally caught up, both slightly winded as they had been forced to sprint to catch up to Leon and Kazue.

"Let's get this over with," Kazue sighed, strolling towards the door and shoving both doors open. Kazue wasn't exactly fond of meeting new people, especially not in spades. As a result the doors practically exploded in, shocking the occupants of the room out of their conversations…

* * *

Team BLWK had gone straight to the Emerald Forest launch area as soon as they had left the main training hall. In lieu of Leon's sudden exam idea of 'Kill the biggest baddie', the team of second years was now required to stir up the local Grimm in the forest below. Alastair had been charged with clearing out some of the weaker Grimm to keep this exercise from taking all day.

"You just had to pick a bag-and-tag," Alastair sighed into his comm-link ear-piece as he walked beneath the canopy of the Emerald Forest. Small birds chirped above him, and the sounds of insects moving about the foliage chittered through the air. Alastair's left hand rested casually on the scabbard of his sword, just under the cross-guard as he walked.

"Oh, stop whining. You and I both know you won't pass up the chance to use Tempest a bit," Leon's voice came through his comm-line. A mile behind Alastair, up on the edge of the cliff lined with launch pads, Leon sat on a large stone with a specialty black Scroll in his left hand, a thermos lid full of warm coffee in his right.

Leon could clearly see most of the forest with the aid of the swarms of watcher drones that Beacon kept for these situations. The small hovering robots could move undetected about the forest, tracking people to ensure their safety and monitor their progress. Leon had one of these drones following Alastair now, watching as the gray-clad swordsman strode confidently through the green forest.

"This is Kazue, I'm in position," came a quick line over the comm. Kazue had been sent to find a nice, high place that she could snipe from to provide support. Swiping away the window that showed Alastair's path through the woods, Leon opened an above-view map to see Kazue's exact location.

"Abel?" Alastair's voice rang across the comm as Leon saw that Kazue was about two miles out and up on a small plateau. _Leave it to her to cover that much ground and find the perfect spot to plink at things for miles_, Leon thought to himself with a smirk.

"Abel's here with me, doing his spirit walker thing," Leon joked. Looking to his left, Abel was sprawled out under a tree with his feet kicked up and his hands behind his head. If one glanced at him, it would appear as if he was napping. However, if you let your gaze sweep over him properly, you would see the fine, pale outline of his Aura and notice the near death-like stillness of his chest.

* * *

"Copy that," Alastair nodded to himself, a habit he had never shaken when using the comm-lines. He had made it another quarter mile further into the forest during their small conversation and check. Thus, it came as little surprise to the young Hunter as the sounds of wildlife in the area gradually faded until there was nothing but silence around him.

No birds chirped in the trees. No insects chittered along the ground. Even the wind seemed to fear making a sound, the breeze that just moments ago stirred the leaves having gone dead still. _Here they come_, Alastair thought to himself as he flicked his left thumb, loosening the catch on his sword scabbard and showing a single inch of bright steel.

As if to answer his thoughts, four Beowolves sprung from around him. Thick saliva ran from their jaws as they flew towards him. Eyes, red as coals burned in the fires of Hell, locked upon Alastair as the young man's feet spread out second-naturedly into a combat stance. Black fur was suddenly met with pale steel as Alastair's blade bit into the Beowolf in front of him, electrical energy arcing along the blade and letting the high-quality steel slice through cursed flesh like a hot knife through butter.

_One down_…, came the thought from somewhere deep in Alastair's mind. He did not know true thought at the moment, only instinct, as his body moved through motions so practiced and honed that he could have performed them blind. The Beowolf in front of him dropped dead, throat cut clean through as Alastair pivoted on his rear left foot and dropped his blade straight down. Again, electrified steel carved through the Grimm before it, cleaving the unsuspecting beast's skull in half right down the middle.

Alastair let his right foot slide out beneath him, spinning onto his back and kicking the next Beowolf in the chest and launching it over him towards the trees. The beast landed on all fours as the fourth Beowolf pounced on Alastair. But instead of the sickening crunch of a throat being bitten out or the wet ripping sound of innards being spilled, a frantic yelp skipped out of the monster's throat.

The last living Beowolf cocked its head in wonder. Surely its comrade could defeat the tiny, squishy human. But even as the last monster pondered this its former comrade's body shifted and the human rolled out from under it. The human's left hand was clutching its former comrade's throat tightly, small sparks of blue energy arcing along his fingers and into the downed Beowolf's body until the hellish light faded from its eyes.

"Alright, c'mon, you ugly son of a bitch," Alastair taunted the last Beowolf as he rolled to his feet. He held his sword in a comfortable grip in his right hand, arcs of electricity pulsing across the fingers of his left hand as he waited for the Grimm to attack.

Like most Beowolves, this one was not the sharpest knife in the block. The beast charged straight at Alastair, guttural roar emanating from its throat as its jaws spread wide to take in the throat of its victim. Alastair was no victim, however, side-stepping to the right and avoiding the Beowolf easily. His left hand flickered out, and a single thin bolt of lightning shot from his palm and struck the Beowolf squarely in the chest.

The monster hit the ground with a loud thud, a single pathetic whimper rising up from its chest before the light of its eyes also faded.

"And then there were none," Alastair breathed out slowly, right arm twirling the blade of Tempest's Edge in a single counter-clockwise circle before jerking down sharply, casting the dark, ichor-like blood of the Grimm off of the blade and onto the ground. In practiced form, Alastair sheathed his sword and let out a loud sigh.

_It's almost easy now…. I can remember when this sword felt like the weight of the world on my hands….._

* * *

_**November 4th, 440 A.G.**_

Alastair Wintergale, eight years old, moved his feet quickly along the pale, sandy beach just beyond the backyard of the large mansion he called home. It was a cold day, warm for the later half of November, and the frosty winds coming off the ocean only added to Alastair's difficulty.

The young boy's left shoe caught in the sand as he stepped to the side to dodge another chunk of ice, just about the size of a ping-pong ball, that would have struck him in the center of the chest if not for his movement. He hadn't expected his shoe to get caught, however, and ended up face down in the sand.

The blue eyed little boy groaned into the sand, as he pushed his hands into the pale grainy stuff. His black hair was a trim and proper cut, close cut to the curvature of his head while still keeping with the latest style seen in noble children at the time. He wore a light gray t-shirt, just slightly too big for him, and baggy gray pants that allowed for good leg movement. Despite his appropriate apparel for the colder climate and brisk breeze, this did not help him avoid the ground beneath his feet.

"You need to keep better eye on your surroundings," a strong voice chided, as a hand came down and grabbed Alastair by the scruff of his collar. The boy was heaved to his feet and the same hand ran along the edges of his face to inspect for injury.

"Yes, sir," Alastair, his voice tiny and apologetic, answered as he followed the large hand holding his chin up the connecting arm to his father's right shoulder. Alastair's father was an intimidating man, With his close-cut black hair, piercing hazel eyes, and strong features, Alastair's father Tristan looked every bit the descendant of a noble line of warriors that he was.

Tristan Wintergale was clad much the same as his son, though his shirt was more fitting and his left hand still maintained the frosty vapor that had surrounded it for the past half-hour. Alastair's eyes flicked down to his own left hand, the beginnings of a frown forming on his face before his father's grip tightened just enough to grab Alastair's attention.

"Listen, son," Tristan Wintergale spoke with a small undertone of impatience in his voice. "You must focus not only on your opponent, but also on the environment around you. Where is the footing bad? Are there environmental hazards like cliffs or lakes? Are there things nearby that you can use to your advantage? You must think of all of these things while fighting."

"But, Dad," the young heir of the Wintergale's whined, "It's hard to think about all that while trying to not get hit in the face." The young boy pouted as his father's same hand left his chin and patted him twice upon the top of the head before Tristan stood.

"That's why you have to train hard, Alastair. Fighting well rarely comes naturally, and even then those who it does must practice to hone their instincts," Tristan explained, hoping his young son understood. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so," Alastair responded, right forefinger ideally scratching his chin as he stared at the ground. Tristan sighed audibly, shaking his head at his son. The head of the Wintergale Household and Chief Developer of Wintergale Technologies forced a smile onto his face, as he gazed down at his boy.

"Why don't we call it quits for today and you go see your mom, hmm?" he told young Alastair. "I'm going to have to go down to the office and take care of some things anyway."

"Okay!" Alastair beamed up at his father, giving him a tight hug around the waist before running towards the manor.

"And be sure to take a shower before you see her! She won't want you smelling like sweat and sea-water!" Tristan called after his son. "What will I do with that boy…" he sighed.

_**May 6th, 441 A.G.**_

"How was your training with your father this morning, Alastair?" Sandra Wintergale asked her son during their lunch. She was a beautiful woman with long chocolate brown hair that she kept in an elegantly styled ponytail, a flattering dark blue blouse and dark gray skirt complimenting her as she sat across from her son on the patio at the back of the mansion. Her forest green eyes sparkled as she looked over her boy.

"I think I made Dad angry," Alastair said quietly, his strictly taught manners set aside as he idly pushed his food around on his plate. "You remember how he unlocked my Aura ?"

Sandra frowned slightly, reaching her right hand out to stroke the back of Alastair's left, "Of course I do. You were so excited that it was the same color as your father's. Why, what's the matter?"

"Dad says my Sem-by-lants," Alastair began, struggling with the word.

"Semblance, sweetie," Sandra supplied with a smile, the look of focus on her son's face absolutely adorable.

"Yeah, Sem..bl...ance. Dad says my Semblance should have shown up by now," Alastair said, looking down at his plate again and absently scooping up a forkful of the gourmet macaroni and cheese on the plate and eating it. "He said that's what his ice powers are. Dad told me that all the great fighters and heroes in our family had an ice Semblance."

Sandra's frown returned at these words, but she forced it away to give an encouraging smile to her beloved boy, "Don't fret about it, Alastair. I'm sure your Semblance will show up soon. And when it does I'll make sure your father can see it."

"Okay, Mom," little Alastair smiled up at his mother, happy that she believed in him. With his spirits raised slightly, Alastair began to eat with more gusto. He almost began to shovel food into his mouth before he remembered his manners and took quick, measured bites. His father always said to present the image of nobility, even when eating.

Sandra smiled warmly at her son's actions. Little Alastair always tried so hard to be like his father that one couldn't find it anything other than cute. Though he was only nearing his tenth birthday, the little boy would try and dress in miniature or younger-designed versions of his father's clothes whenever they went out and would always look at Tristan for cues of what to do.

It was that very same sheer admiration that made it so hard for Sandra to watch her son walk in his father's footsteps. Despite how much Alastair tried, it seemed that Tristan was never satisfied. Alastair's manners could always be better, his fighting skills were too poor, even the boy's grades from his tutors never seemed to lighten the load that was Tristan Wintergale's expectations.

"Mom… Mommy!" Alastair's voice snapped his mother out of her musings.

"What is it, sweetie?" Sandra asked, raising an eyebrow at her son. Judging by the slightly miffed look on his face, he must have been trying to get her attention for a few moments.

"I finished my meal. Can I- May I please be excused?" Alastair spoke, correcting his grammar partway through his sentence. Sandra's bright green eyes moved down to the now empty plate, along with the glass that had contained juice a moment before. Both were totally empty and Alastair looked at his mother expectantly.

"Go ahead, Alastair," Sandra consented. A bright smile bloomed on Alastair's face as he got up from his seat at the patio table, pushing the chair in when he was clear of it.

"I'm going to go practice my Aura some more," Alastair told his mother, before the small boy ran off towards the inside of the house, missing the sad expression that darkened Sandra's beautiful features.

The mansion was large and extravagant, yet still tasteful enough to avoid becoming gaudy. The walls of the mansion were painted a light, muted gray that was more forgiving than a stark white building without being dark enough to be foreboding. Off white paint contrasted against the gray at all the windowsills and banisters around the exterior, drawing one's eye comfortably.

The interior walls of main corridors of the manor were the same gray as the exterior, with silver light fixtures tastefully placed evenly along the hallways and walkways to give the place a lively feeling. Decor changed from room to room, with the large living room having a classical style of couches and recliners spaced aesthetically around a large flat-screen television. The kitchens were large and industrial, as the servants of the home went about their duties cleaning up after the midday meal and preparing their own late lunches. The door to Tristan's study was open, revealing a modest desk stacked with papers and profit manifests. Next to the desk was a wide and tall drafting table, the most basic stages of a design for a new prototype automaton discernible from the quick sketches and notes.

Alastair sped past all these things, making his way straight to his bedroom. His room was big, almost a suite in and of itself really. His bed took up one corner of the room, the four posts of its frame holding back the drapes around it until it was time for him to go to sleep that evening. His sheets were pale blue, like that of a mid-morning sky, as were the drapes hung on the bed-frame's upper section. The walls of the room were a lighter gray, closer to off white than black, with a polished oak floor stretching across the entire room. A desk with a neat stack of shelves next to it occupied another corner of the room, his school books and supplies organized and tucked away as he had already finished his lessons for the day. A toy chest sat unopened, filled with many odds and ends that the boy enjoyed playing with whenever he wasn't doing anything else. Several dark light oak dressers lined the eastern wall next to his closet, both filled with the many outfits he wore both at home and out in public appearance.

The thing Alastair was most interested at the moment, however,was the plain black and dark blue roll-out mat that he spread out in the middle of the floor. It was padded to allow someone to sit in a proper meditative position for long amounts of time without growing sore, and was also large enough for Alastair to lay out on if he so chose. The young boy quickly changed into a set of his designated training clothes, the loose shirt and pants, and sat cross legged in the center of the mat with his hands on his knees.

"Dad said to close my eyes, focus on bringing out my Aura, and try and find the place in it that seems most powerful," Alastair repeated to himself, before his head drooped.

"But what does that mean? I only learned how to bring out my Aura a few months ago," he sighed to himself. For a nine, soon to be ten year old boy, he felt awfully more stressed than he should.

But, there was a reason for that. Even if Alastair was too young to pick up on it directly, part of him still knew that his father was disappointed in him. He didn't know or understand why, with as hard as he tried, but he knew that Tristan was. So, Alastair had made the silent vow to himself to discover his Semblance by his tenth birthday. His own father had found his Semblance at ten, so if Alastair could do just as good or better, he was sure Tristan would be proud.

"Okay, Alastair, focus," he breathed to himself, getting back into proper meditation position again.

The young boy closed his eyes and concentrated. His breathing gradually slowed, as the muscles of his young body relaxed. He looked into himself, his mind clear, as he felt for the power that was Aura.

It did not take long to find it, and was getting easier every time he did. He found what felt like a deep well within himself, a small candle-flame's worth of light. In his mind's eye, he walked to the edge of the well and fell forward. His mind's eye, his mental self, dropped rapidly down this increasingly bright tunnel until he hit the brilliantly glowing pool of pale blue energy at the bottom.

Power suffused his entire being as he tapped into his Aura. He could feel the energy moving through his body, a warm, happy sensation as it brought to life all of his nerves and brought the world into greater focus. He felt the energy pour into every last cell in his body, and a pleasant sensation bloomed just behind his eyes.

Slowly cracking open his eyes, Alastair's entire body was now wrapped in a pale blue Aura, the shade just a few tones off from aqua. He felt the pleasant sensation behind his eyes again and turned his head to look at the mirror on one of his dressers. Just like the last time he had used his Aura, his normally cerulean irises now glowed the same color as his Aura. It had scared him the first time it happened, but now it was comforting. It made Alastair feel rooted, powerful. A strange feeling for a nine year old boy.

"Now, concentrate," he reminded himself as he turned over his left hand, palm facing the ceiling as he rested it on his left knee. "Dad uses his Semblance with his hands, I should try that."

And so Alastair focused…..

Later the evening…

The Wintergales had just concluded dinner an hour ago. The meal had gone well, if not slightly tense as Sandra and Tristan discussed how work went for Tristan that day. Alastair had sat and listened obediently, eating his meal as he listened to his parents talk. When it had come to his turn to speak of his day, he had looked down and softly spoken about practicing with his Aura. Tristan had seemed pleased by this, though Sandra had frowned and told Alastair that he should play from time to time.

Now, Tristan and Sandra Wintergale lounged in their large bedroom suite, taking the time they so seldom got to speak to one another. The room was styled very similarly to Alastair's, with dressers and such along the walls. Though, in difference, the couple's bed was positioned in the center of the northern wall, This is where the couple was currently sprawled out, Sandra curled up next to her husband as they spoke.

"I'm worried about Alastair," Sandra spoke up after several minutes of silence, her face pressed against Tristan's robe-clad chest as they lay in their sleep attire.

"What do you mean?" Tristan asked as he propped himself up on his elbow, looking at his wife. A subtle downturn of his lips, not deep enough to be a true frown but not his normal expression, was on his face.

"I know you just want what's best for him. I do. But I get the feeling sometimes that he's missing out on being a child," Sandra said, not meeting her husband's eyes. "Today he said he thought you were angry at him because he hadn't found his Semblance yet."

Tristan sighed at this, his free left hand wiping upwards over his face and pushing back his hair, "I didn't realize it was bothering him that much. While it's true that I'm frustrated, I'm not angry at him. It just seems like he has stopped improving since we first started this training for him. He avoids most of the fake attacks I throw at him now, but he is still too skittish to attempt to counter in any way. And if he can't unlock his Semblance, I fear that he'll get stuck in a rut. He's my son, a Wintergale. We've been warriors for as far back as anyone can remember."

"I know that, my love," Sandra said, finally locking eyes with her husband. A fierce light, that of a mother's love, shimmered in the emerald depths of her eyes. "But our family is also one of the leading groups in technology now. I know it is tradition, but maybe Alastair doesn't have to be a warrio-"

A sudden knock at the door startled both of them, stopping Sandra's sentence as they both looked at the entrance to the room. "Enter," Tristan called, sitting up properly to see who could be bothering them at this time of night. The non-live-in servants should have all gone home by now and the live-ins all went to their quarters at nine.

To both adult Wintergales's great surprise, the door opened to a pajama-clad Alastair. A smile like a blooming ray of sunshine lit up his face as he practically sprinted into the room, laughing happily.

"I did it! I did it!" he cheered, hurrying across the room to his parents. All discipline and regiment forgotten in his mirth, Alastair leapt into the bed and hugged his mother and father, laughing merrily.

"Did what?" Sandra asked, thrown off by her son's sudden behavior. At dinner he had been so demure and quiet it had been almost sad. Why now was he so excited and happy when he knew he should be in bed asleep at this hour?

"My Semblance! I finally found my Semblance!" the blue-eyed boy beamed up at his parents, a quiet gasp echoing from both of them.

"That's wonderful, son!" Tristan's face broke into a smile, as Sandra gave her son a happy pat on the head. "Let's see it!"

"Okay!" Alastair said, crawling off the bed and hopping to his feet. "Here it is," he said, as he turned to face them and held up his left hand, palm facing the ceiling.

Young Alastair closed his eyes as his parents stared expectantly. His Aura, bright as a pale blue star in the dimly-lit bedroom, shined from his very being and slowly moved across his body and down his left arm. There it settled into his left hand and seemed to fade for several moments. Just as Tristan and Sandra were about console their son for trying, a quiet hum came from Alastair. The hum got progressively louder then suddenly stopped, as light bloomed and settled in Alastair's hand again. There, above the thin veil of his pale blue Aura, a single arc of energy jumped from his thumb to his pinkie finger. First one, then another from his thumb to index finger, then from his pinkie to his index finger, and in moments a small storm of electrical sparks arced all along his hand. It was then that Tristan and Sandra Wintergale realized that their son's Aura was not the pale blue commonly associated with Ice Semblance users, but different. It was the bright, radiant blue of lightning in the night sky. The blue of electricity.

A look of horror marred Sandra's face, eyes wide as her mouth hung slightly open. Tristan's eyes widened like saucers as a his jaw tightened and his gaze turned dark. It shifted from their son to his wife, as Alastair opened his eyes.

The boy's smile faltered as he saw the terrible looks on his parents' faces, his Aura and the electricity fading as his smile disappeared and was replaced by an increasingly worried expression, "Mommy….? Daddy….?"

_**September 9th, 441 A.G.**_

Alastair opened his eyes to the painfully white ceiling, bright florescent lights shining down through a thin mesh above him. He moved to sit up, but found he was unable. He turned his head, looking down at his arms. Wrapped tightly around his forearms and elbows were several straps, keeping them bound down to the bed. Straining to lean his head forward, he saw that his waist and legs were similarly bound.

_Attempt thirty-five, failed_. He thought to himself dryly as he let his head fall back against the plain white pillow beneath it. Casting his gaze at the corner of his eye, he saw the white sheets and comforter that he lay on top off. Beyond that the white bedframe, white floor, white walls. Too much white.

"-id actually busted the pipes?"

The sudden voice both terrified and excited Alastair. He raised his pale blue eyes up from the floor to look across the room. His eyes had never gone back to cerulean after he unlocked his Semblance.

The room was thirty feet by thirty feet, large and open with a high ceiling. Normally this would be wanted, but not in this case. In all of the massive room,. there existed only a stark white bed with white sheets, comforter and pillow, a white trunk stuffed with plain white t-shirts and loose-legged white pants, a white desk without drawers or cabinets, and a white bookshelf loaded with textbooks and school supplies. In the corner of the room completely opposite and across from the bed, was a small walled-off area.

This was Alastair's bathroom. Where the voice had come from. Where he had used his Semblance yesterday to electrify all the water in the pipes and make them explode. His latest attempt at getting either some form of attention or an opening to escape.

He had been thrown in here the week after he showed his parents his Semblance, by no less than Tristan Wintergale himself. Alastair forced back the memory of his father's enraged face as he noticed the door to the room was open.

Normally the door slid up from the floor to the ceiling and making a makeshift wall, almost appearing as if there were no door at all. At meal times a small slot would open along the bottom of the door, allowing a tray of simple bread, cheese, and an awful tasting soup that supposedly held all the other nutrients he needed to stay healthy.

"Yeah. Apparently the kid has a destructive Semblance," another voice said. Alastair's eyes locked on the bathroom again, seeing a man with blonde hair wearing a plain blue plumber's jumpsuit walk out holding a clipboard.

"Destructive? Looked like a bomb went off in there," came the first voice, as another man carried a small tool bag into the large room and walked into the tiny bath area. He had had brown hair and wore the same coverall as the first.

"Shut up and finish tightening off the last bits for the faucet," the blonde said, noticing Alastair was awake and making a point to turn his back to the boy.

_Just like every other time, huh? They never look at me. Never talk to me. Just ignore me…._ the thoughts came unbidden to his head.

Every time he had tried to get someone's attention or to escape, he had been left alone until he finally passed out from exhaustion. And every time he awoke afterwards, he would be strapped to the bed as he was now, while whatever needed repaired or replaced was taken care of. Then the workers would leave, just like every time before.

As Alastair recounted his first attempt, shredding his textbooks, the two plumbers left the room. The advanced door slid up behind them, and Alastair was left alone. Shredding textbooks, blocking the toilet in the small bath with unholy amounts of toilet paper, smashing the desk and chair, etcetera etcetera etcetera, until his latest attempt: Channeling electricity into the water in the pipes to make them burst. What he hadn't accounted for was the pressure shift as all the water in the pipes turned to steam, the sudden plume of hot air from every pipe mildly burning him as he was propelled out of the basic bathroom. If not for his Aura, he surely would have had second and third degree burns.

_Just go back to sleep… You never get to see them untie you anyway…_ he told himself as he closed his eyes.

_**September 10th, 441 A.G.**_

When he awoke again, the restraints were gone. Alastair groaned quietly at the soreness of his limbs from being kept immobile so long, shaking his legs and rotating his arms to work the stiffness out. He stood from the plain white bed and made his way to the bathroom across the large, nearly empty expanse that was his cell.

He wore one of the several sets of white t-shirts, loose-legged pants, and white boxers. Shoes and socks were a comfort he was no longer allowed, as he walked across the smooth floor to the bathroom so far yet so near.

The nine-year-old boy reached the bathroom in less than a minute, walking through the empty threshold and into the tiny area. A small, single-unit shower stall was in one corner, the most basic of soaps and shampoos inside. A toilet, six rolls of toilet paper stacked neatly into two columns atop the back, was next to the shower. And finally a small faucet occupied the space directly next to the door. The most basic of modern living.

Alastair relieved himself and flushed the toilet once done, washing his hands thoroughly with one of the coarse, basic bars of soap on the small counter. Exiting the bathroom area, he walked away from the walled off corner that was the bath area and went back to his bed. He sprawled out on the plain white furniture, once again staring at the bright ceiling.

_What did I do?_ The thought came to him before. It had visited him the first night he had spent in this abysmal room. And every night after. Though now, after almost four months in the never dimmed room, night and day were indifferential.

A small chime came from a speaker hidden amongst the lights in the ceiling, signalling that the door was going to open soon. Alastair did not even bother trying to rush the door as he had the first time he realized what this chime meant. It originally signaled that he was about to be given one of his meals. This signal changed meanings, however, after he had tried wedging his arm in the food-tray slot of the door to escape. A boot, for that's all he could see, had kicked his arm back through the small opening and it had promptly shut. For the next week after that, he had gotten only water.

Thus it came as a great surprise to him when the door actually opened, from upper wall to floor, and his mother stood in the door. Alastair's eyes widened at the sight, for the beautiful woman he seen in his memories, in the dreams he had of being set free from this awful place, was not the woman in the doorway.

Her hair was not in the elegant ponytail it normally was, instead it was messily draped down her shoulders. Her eyes, once vibrant with life, were now filled with a deeply haunted look. The smile that Alastair had missed more than anything, was instead replaced by a desperately held back grimace as the woman who was his mother sprinted into the room. Her clothes, still the deep blue blouse and gray skirt, were disheveled as though she had dressed quickly. The door shut behind her as soon as she was clear.

Before Alastair could even utter a word, he was being smashed into his mother's strong hug. She held him tightly, wracking sobs shaking the both of them as she chanted, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." over and over. The young boy was shell-shocked at the sudden display. Shouldn't he be the one apologizing for whatever it was he'd done. Shouldn't he be the one looking haggard, broken and disheveled as he pleaded forgiveness?

It was Alastair's complete stillness in his mother's arms that pulled Sandra from her woe filled mantra, releasing the vice-like grip she had to wipe her eyes quickly and look at him. His now pale blue eyes gazed unbelieving at her, as the hair which had formerly been so well kept stopped just above his eyebrows. He had lost some weight during his time in what he had called The Room, his formerly full, youthful cheeks having grown slightly gaunt.

"Alastair?" she spoke, looking her son in the eye. "Alastair please say something."

"...You aren't a dream, again, are you?" came the quiet, desperate voice of Alastair as his arms locked around his mother's waist. "Please don't just be another dream!"

Tears welled up in Sandra's eyes anew, as she held her son close, "No, honey. I'm not a dream. I'm right here." Alastair's only inclination that he heard her at all was to squeeze her middle tighter, his small arms clinging with all their strength.

"Why did Daddy put me here?" his quiet sobs stabbed at Sandra's heart. "What did I do to make him so mad at me? Why does he hate me?"

"It's my fault, Alastair, it's all my fault," Sandra spoke quietly, fighting to keep from breaking down again as she stroked her son's messy hair.

"What? How is it your fault?" Alastair said slowly, pulling back to look his mother in the eye as much as he could without letting go of her. In the end, his hands clung to her shirt, fistfuls of fabric clenched tightly in his little hands.

"Your father," Sandra began, stroking Alastair's hair again as a lump suddenly formed in her throat. "Your father, isn't actually your daddy, Alastair."

"...What? Of course he is. He's your husband. My Daddy," Alastair said, eyes wide that his mother would ever say such a thing.

"No, Alastair, he isn't," Sandra repeated, this time more firmly. "Did you read the books I made them leave you? The ones about how babies are born?"

Alastair looked confused for a moment, before realization dawned on him as he remembered the books he'd read. Books of biology and anatomy, toned down to make them more understandable for children. Books that explained what exactly happened to make a baby.

"So….. you… and Daddy…. didn't… make me?" he finally said, looking deeply hurt as his eyes lost focus. Sandra had to bite the edge of her lip as she felt yet another heart-string break at her son's horrified look.

"No, Alastair. We didn't. I and another man, named Hector Strom, we… made you," Sandra said, forcing the words out.

"It had happened in our last year at Beacon Academy. We were teammates, along with Hector and a girl named Meredith. We had gone on a mission, to exterminate a colony of Grimm near a small village. A King Taijitsu, a big two-headed snake Grimm, hurt your father badly. He was hospitalized for over a month."

"I didn't know what to do. Your father was laying in a hospital bed, floating between life and death, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do. I found myself breaking into a teacher's office, taking the whiskey that every student knew he kept in his drawer for after hours. Hector found me hours later, trying to drown my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. I was far beyond drunk, and needed someone to help me, hold me, comfort me. And Hector had always been so nice to me, in a flirty friend kind of way. He had stopped when your father and I started dating, because I had asked him to."

"I don't hold it against him for what happened…. The girl he'd been flirting with for two years threw herself at him, and I'd forced him to have a couple drinks too. He wouldn't have been a normal young guy if he hadn't done what he did. But when we woke up in the morning, we both immediately regretted it."

"Is that when I was…." Alastair's voice, even more distant now, paused as the shell-shocked boy looked for the word that the books had used. "When I was conceived?"

"Yes," Sandra nodded, worry weighing down upon her like a pile of bricks on her chest. "Your father got better not long after that, and as soon as he was able to walk, he proposed to me. I accepted, but not without my doubts, especially when I found out a month later I was pregnant with you."

"Hector agreed not to mention our drunken night together, and we kept it from your father all the way up until the day you were born. That was one of the most heart-warming and terrifying days of my life."

"Why?" Alastair said, glassy electric blue eyes staring into his mother's own green orbs. "Didn't you want me?"

Sandra fought back a sob as she hugged Alastair closely, "Of course I did, dear. I love you with every ounce of my being. It wasn't that I didn't want you, it was my fear that your father would shun you. You have your hair and looks from me, but your eyes were that deep, cerulean blue from the moment you first opened them. Neither myself or your father had blue eyes, but Hector did. His eyes were the same electric-blue yours are now."

"Thankfully, your father believed me when I said that my grandfather had blue eyes, and never worried. Hector knew, of course, that you were his son, but kept his promise. Your father and I took you home, and raised you just like the Wintergale you were. But, about a year after we brought you home we got a letter from Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy. Hector had gone on a mission alone, and never came back."

Alastair's mind swam with this sudden rush of new information. His young mind struggled to wrap about the fact that his father, the man he had known as "Daddy" for as long as he could remember, was not actually his father. Some blue-eyed stranger, a man Alastair had never even seen or heard of before, was actually his father. It seemed impossible.

"Honey, I know this is a lot to take in," Sandra spoke softly, holding her one and only son close as she stroked the messy locks atop his head again. "And I know I don't deserve to say this after all that I've put you through by lying to your father all these years, but please don't hate me, please forgive me." Tears rolled down her cheeks again as she waited for the hate-filled words, the screaming and scorn from her son. It had been all she received from her husband these last few months….

"I don't hate you, Mommy," Alastair spoke up quietly, his small, pale hands pulling her face down so he could kiss her cheek. The new light in his eyes startled Sandra. A great deal of the glimmer of innocence had been wiped out inside the boy in the short half hour that she'd been in the room. A sadness, dull but strong, seemed seated in his bright blue eyes.

"You're my Mommy. The person who's always been there for me. I could never hate you," he told her, his very voice sounding as though it had been burned with some new force. It rang with a quiet emotion, what exactly Sandra couldn't identify, that made Alastair seem so much older than his nine years.

"I'm so glad to hear that," Sandra weeped as she wiped Alastair's hair out of his face to and stared intently at his appearance. She burned every last detail, from how his own drying tears clung to his black eyelashes, the way his veins had begun to show faintly against his skin as he'd turned deathly pale from lack of sunshine, all the way down to the few small flecks of darker blue amidst the sea of lightning blue that made up his eyes.

A fast, triple repeat of the earlier chime rang again, and a look of anguish settled over Sandra's face. "I can't stay much longer. Your father is coming to talk to you. No matter what he says or does, remember, Alastair. Remember that I love you more than anything in this world," Sandra hiccuped as she kissed her son's forehead one last time and stood. Alastair's eyes widened as she began walking back to the door. The boy hurried to his feet, chasing after her and firmly wrapping his arms around her waist.

"You can't go! I miss you! I miss how things were! Please don't go, Mommy. I can't stand it. I can't stand to be by myself in this room again!" Sandra looked at Alastair with a look that could only be made by that of a mother in pure agony for her child, as she forced his arms from around her waist and sat the boy down.

The door slid down to admit her through as she neared it. Sandra turned and gave Alastair one last look before she left. The teary eyed boy stared at her in disbelief. Even as he rushed to his feet again and sprinted towards the door, the specialized material of the motorized door slid back up to form a tangible barrier between them.

"Mom! Mom! Mommy! Mommy!" Sandra's green eyes stayed focused on the ground as a pair of gray slacks ending in a pair of black dress shoes entered the top of her vision.

"Take her back to her quarters," the spite filled voice of Tristan Wintergale ordered the guards stationed in the hallway outside the room. Two men in rubberized security gear stood on either side of Sandra, coaching her to the far end of the hallway to the exit. Watching his wife's fading form reach the door, Tristan Wintergale clenched his teeth for a moment before he gave the command to open the door.

Alastair fell back from the door as it suddenly descended, looking up at the man that towered over him. Gone was the slightly irritable, patient man that had been his father five months ago. Instead was a man scoured raw by lies and rage, his hazel gaze burning into Alastair's eyes like hot coals.

"Get away from the door." The voice was so gruff, so blunt with its barely constrained anger that it took Alastair a moment to realize it was his father's. He quickly pushed himself backwards on hands and feet until he was clear of the door, Tristan stepping in before the door shut swiftly behind him.

"Daddy, I-" Alastair began as he found his voice, wanting so desperately to apologize to the man he knew as his father, even if he now knew that it was not actually his fault.

"Shut. Up." The two words, heavy and cold, rang throughout the empty room and silenced Alastair immediately.

"Now you listen, and you listen well," Tristan said, stepping forward to loom over Alastair and grabbing the scruff of the boy's white collar. He yanked the boy to his feet, glowering hazel eyes inches from Alastair's own electric blue.

"The only reason your mother and I aren't having a divorce. The only reason you two are not rotting out in the streets, is because my own father, my actual father, advised me not to," he told Alastair in a voice so hateful, so full of cold and hurt and malice that Alastair had to find a chill from running down his spine. "And the only reason he told me not to is because it would look bad on the family, and on the company. So, here is exactly what is going to happen: You are going to stay here, alone, and work those textbooks and everything else you are given until you are old enough to apply for a low-level engineering position at the head developement center where I can keep an eye on you. Your whore mother will continue to live with me, keeping up the appearance of a happy married couple with an overly studious and shy son. You, all of this," Tristan paused to indicate the hellish white room around them, "is because of her. So if you want to be mad at anyone, or blame anymore, blame her and that fucking bastard she slept with."

"What about Mom?" Alastair spoke, his heart burning with an emotion most nine-year-olds did not know: Rage. _'How dare he call her a whore! How dare he treat us like this! We're his family! His wife and son!'_

"Didn't I tell you to shut up and sit quiet!?" Tristan said, pale blue Aura flaring along the outline of his presence.

"What. About. Mom?" Alastair repeated, childish eyes narrowing in anger as his own Aura began to glow. _'The eyes are the same! Those same damn glowing, laughing , disgusting eyes!'_ Tristan thought to himself as he held his son's gaze.

"Your mother will live in a separate wing of the mansion. She will only be with me during required social events and nothing more. And the only reason she isn't kept under lock and key as well is because of her socialite status," Tristan bit out, resisting the urge to strike Alastair. "I hope you enjoyed seeing her, you little bastard, because you won't again until your tenth birthday."

With that, Tristan turned on his heel and left the room, the door sliding down then back up rapidly to stop the young boy that had been right on his heels. Alastair smashed into the mobile section of the wall a fraction of a second after it closed, pale blue eyes glowering with rage as he slammed his tiny fists against the door.

"Give her back! Give her back!" he screamed, his Aura flaring more brightly than ever before.

"GIVE HER BAAAACCCK!" the little boy practically roared, reaching into himself and finding his Semblance. The emotions he felt, the rage and energy and hate, culminated into an explosion of electricity loosely funneled towards the door.

The sheer brightness of it all stunned Alastair for a moment, as his massive expenditure of energy caught up with him immediately. As his vision blurred, he managed to see through the bleary haze that he had done no damage to the door. In his final thoughts before the darkness at the edge of his vision took him, Alastair Wintergale cursed his father.

_**November 15th, 444.A.G.**_

Alastair cracked his eyes open to view the ceiling above his bed. The same ceiling that had been the sky of his personal Hell for the past three years. His hair, trim and proper so long ago, was shaggy and unkempt, falling to his shoulder blades in the back and covering most of his face in the front. His electric blue eyes blinked apathetically behind his long raven locks. He raised his hand up to block the light from his face, marveling at how his skin was now so pale the blue of his veins was visible against it.

_'If it wasn't for all the crap they put in my food, I'd probably be dead by now,'_ the morbid thought bloomed into his mind of its own volition. He'd been having a lot of those lately. Being alone all the time does that to a person.

Alastair swung his legs out of his bed and stood, stretching to unkink his muscles and joints. His body was almost wispy beneath his clothes, his under-worked muscles giving his frame an almost starved appearance, despite his diet keeping him well nourished. His clothes, the same blank white they were years ago, hung loosely on his frame. He looked at the door to see a tray of food already in front of the door.

_'Seems I slept in,'_ Alastair thought again. He didn't think out loud like he used to, trying to make himself feel better about the accursed silence of The Room. Now, speaking aloud just made him saddened again.

The somber boy passed his desk and school supplies, crossing the large room and stopping in front of the tray. A fair sized chunk of multi-grain bread, a bowl of the nutrient-loaded soup, a wedge of cheese, and a glass of water. The same thing every day, for the past three years.

_'At least the soup doesn't taste like it came out of a trashcan now,'_ he thought to himself as he sat down cross-legged just in front of the door and pulled the tray into his lap. He began eating calmly, spooning the bland soup into his mouth.

Eating didn't take long at all, and he put the empty tray down before the slot in the door. Then Alastair stood and walked into the small alcove that was his restroom, relieving himself after his breakfast. Another short walk across the room brought him to his trunk full of blank white clothes. He grabbed a full set, boxers, loose-legged pants, white shirt, the same bland clothes.

As he was passing his desk again, he caught sight of the makeshift calendar he'd made, peeking out from under one of his closed textbooks. As his eyes came to rest on the partially hidden calendar, realization dawned on him.

"It's the fifteenth!" he blurted out loudly, his voice cracking as pain shot through his throat. He winced and clenched his teeth as he swallowed several times, trying to soothe the pain in his throat. _Guess that's what happens when you scream after being quiet for seven months…._

Alastair did his best to ignore the pain in his throat as he rushed to the shower. He didn't even bother trying to get the water to a very comfortable temperature, leaving it scalding hot as he threw off his clothes and jumped into the small stall. A short yelp of pain escaped him as he quickly increased the amount of cold water.

He scrubbed his hair with the minimalistic shampoo and rinsed it, eyes shut tight to avoid getting the soap in them. Then he soaped himself up and rinsed, stepping out of the shower and drying himself with one of the two towels that were regularly set out for him every week. He brushed his teeth with the somewhat bad tasting toothpaste he was provided, and attempted to bring some semblance of order to his long,wild hair.

_'I wish I had a clock…'_ he mentally whined as he pulled his clothes on. His still damp feet made a quick smacking sound as he moved about the room. For the first time in almost a year, Alastair went through the once practiced motions of making his bed, tidying his desk and organizing his meager allotted belongings.

_'I have to make everything as perfect as I can. She's coming today!'_

It took Alastair only thirty minutes to get The Room completely set. He sat on his bed, the first glimmering spark of hope and excitement in almost a year burning in his heart. The boy nervously fiddling with his fingers as he waited.

'It's been a year. How has she changed? What will she think of how I changed? What's been happening in the world outside?' he pondered as he subconsciously ignited his Aura, a spark of energy jumping from his left hand to his right.

_'Stop that,'_ he chided himself, forcing his Aura back down and dismissing his Semblance completely. He had taken to using his Aura to restore some sense of peace. The pale blue glow and the crackling of the electricity a comforting sound, like the crackling of a campfire in the middle of the dark night.

Alastair subconsciously let the spark come to point again, a single point of blue in the endless white of The Room. He smiled as he watched it, the warmth and radiating energy calming his nerves. As he caught himself playing with the spark again, he let out a slow breathe and quenched the energy back into himself.

_Bing!_

The chime snapped Alastair to attention. Eagerness burst throughout his being and got to his feet. The smile on his face could have lit up a black hole, as he took quick strides towards the door. He was halfway to the door when it opened.

Alastair's smile faltered and vanished when it was not the slightly aged appearance of Sandra Wintergale that greeted him. Instead it was a girl, one only a few years older than him by the looks of it. Alastair felt himself slide into a center of balance left unattended for three years, as his feet fell into stance and his hands raised up closer to his face.

The girl looked about sixteen or seventeen. She had a fair, heart shaped face with large chocolate brown eyes. Her hair was a brighter hazelnut brown, with symmetrical black and white streaks in her hair just near her temples. Her skin was a slightly darkened peach tone, not quite tan but still somewhat darker than the typical skin tone of citizens of Vale. Most intriguing to Alastair was the pair of four inch long horns that peaked out of her hair on either sides of her forehead, a spiralling ridge wrapping around them. The near black horns curled backwards slightly, arching towards the back of her head.

_A Faunus!? Why is a Faunus here!?_

Alastair's gaze finally dropped from her face as he peered over her body. She wore a pale beige blouse and black slacks, a pair of rather high-class leather sandals wrapped around her feet. Her figure was just slightly curvy, highlighting against the somewhat masculine clothes that she was female.

"It's impolite to stare, Alastair. And put your hands down, she isn't going to hurt you," The chiding voice of Alastair's mother snapped him out of his trance as the mystery girl stepped into the room and to the left, showing that Sandra had indeed shown up.

She wore her now classic blue blouse and dark skirt, along with a matching dark gray business jacket. Her green eyes radiated almost as much joy as the smile on her face, and Alastair noticed the first inclination of lines from aging beginning to appear on her face. She moved forward quickly, covering the gap between herself and her son in seconds and scooping her son up into a hug.

"Oh, I've missed you," she spoke into her son's ear, hugging him tightly. Alastair's thin arms clutched at his mother almost defensively, pressing himself into her embrace as he felt the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

"I missed you, too, Mom," he breathed as he held his mother, before his eyes snapped open as he realized they had an audience. "Mom, who is she?" he asked, pulling out of her hug to look at the mystery girl.

Sandra smiled as she looked over her shoulder at the mystery girl and then back to Alastair, waving the girl over to them. She approached slowly, keeping her chocolate eyes on Alastair as she came within arms' reach of Sandra. She was very light on her feet, almost as if she didn't need to touch the ground to walk.

"Alastair, this is Amora Duskveld," his mother introduced, flourishing her arm a bit to indicate the mystery girl, Amora.

"Amora," Sandra said, the girl almost flinching under the unblinking gaze of Alastair. His eyes glowed with suspicion and mistrust, the almost unnatural blue sending a single strand of worry spreading through the girl. She didn't know if it was the wild yet manicured appearance, what with his unkempt hair and stark white clothes, or the look on his face like he and his mother were the last people on Remnant and she had just invaded. "This is Alastair, my son."

Alastair's gaze never left Amora even for an instant as he got to his feet and simply stared at Amora. The simple glow that dwelled behind the boy's eyes was almost intimidating as he looked Amora over once more. An odd sort of power rested in those eyes. The power of one ready to do anything and everything to keep what little they had to cling to. A power Amora could sympathize with.

"Introduce yourself properly, Alastair," Sandra reprimanded her son, who spun on his heel to look at his mother. He blinked at her twice, the casual radiant presence he had a moment ago disappearing as he looked at his mother.

"S-Sorry, Mom," he stuttered, brushing his hands against his shirt before he turned and extended his hand to Amora. "So-sorry for being rude. I'm Alastair Wint-," he began, stopping partway through. "I'm Alastair," he corrected himself.

Amora's face lit up with a smile as she saw the formerly quiet, intense wraith of the person in white before degenerate back into a nervous, now twelve-year-old boy, "Nice to meet you, Alastair," she spoke in a happy tone as she took his hand and shook it twice. "You, Alastair, need a haircut," she broke the handshake and ruffled his head.

In the blink of an eye Alastair went from beneath Amora's hand to behind his mother, eyes wide as he clung to her blouse. Amora couldn't stifle the giggle that sprung up at his antics. Alastair stared at her still, a slight blush blooming on his ghostly pale cheeks as Sandra joined Amora in laughter.

"I think Alastair deserves a bit of an explanation," Sandra chuckled as she managed to calm back down. Alastair looked up at his mother's face, curiosity plain about his pale features. Sandra gave Amora an inquisitive look of her own, to which Amora nodded slowly, almost as if to say 'it's alright'.

"Amora's family died in one of the Faunus Rights Riots last year. She was in care of the state until a few months ago. When I found out what happened, I took her in," Sandra began, seeing the look on Alastair's face turn from curiosity to sadness as he looked at Amora. Amora's gaze wandered around The Room, her hand flickering to her eye for a moment to wipe what looked like a tear.

"Tristan was furious, of course. Ranting and raving the way he does now," Sandra spoke as if she was brushing dust under a rug. "But, I couldn't just let her be. So, after one of many fights, we had to come to a conclusion. And after I broached it to Amora and explained a few things, she liked it."

Alastair's eyes darted from his mother to Amora in confusion, before finally settling back on Sandra, "I don't understand."

Amora took initiative this time, stepping forward and crouching so that she was level with Alastair, "I'm going to be staying with you, Alastair. As a… well, I guess a maid would be the technical name for it. Maid, nanny, guest, all those things. But I'd like to think we could be friends."

"Wha….? Friends?" Alastair said, eyes wide with shock. Thoughts ran through his head a mile a minute, from why to how, from everything about his isolation these past three years to now, and finally his brain addressed the one thing that his upbringing and age thought would be a problem.

"But we can't both live in The Room. You're a girl," he said, brows knit with confusion. Again Sandra and Amora pealed with laughter. Sandra's right hand mussed Alastair's already messy hair, and the boy gave them both a glare of frustration.

"What she's saying, dear, is that I managed after all these years to convince Tristan to let you out of this damned room," Sandra told her son. The effect of these words. These mere amalgamations of sounds had the most profound effect on Alastair that Sandra had ever seen on a human being.

Tears welled up and ran down Alastair's face, as his lips quivered and the first shake took him. He let out a low, quiet breath as the tears continued to run down his face, before he smiled at both of them, "Really?" It sounded to good to be true. _It's a lie, a dream. 'There's no way this is actually happening. Any minute I'll wake up strapped to the bed for trying to burn my desk to char or something. It'll just be another one of God's cruel jokes.'_ he thought to himself, daring against all his worries to hope it true.

"Really, really," Sandra and Amora spoke together.

"We're going to have to leave now, honey. Tristan refused to let you know where this room is. A gas is going to be pumped into the room to make you sleepy, but when you wake up you'll be at your new home with Amora. And one of the servants tells me Tristan has even had something sent there for you," Sandra explained, stroking her son's hair. "I'll be there too, for the rest of our visit. I love you, Alastair."

"I love you too, Mom," Alastair forced out as he began to sob with relief. Sandra stood and Amora rose from her crouch, both of the women leaving the room. Alastair almost didn't catch the smile and wave Amora gave him, right before the door closed.

As he sat there trying not to cry, a low hissing sound reached his ears. He looked up near the lights of the ceiling to see cloudy white vapor pouring into the room. As his eyes watched the vapor pour in, he realized his vision started to blur. Darkness began swimming at the edge of his vision, his body going weak. A small, wan smile touched his face as he fell sideways and crashed onto the floor.

The world came back to Alastair drastically and immediately. He lurched forwards from his place on what he assumed was the ground to get his surroundings. He was in a large, open living room. His eyes flickered about, taking in the luxurious black leather furniture scattered tastefully about the room. He felt the smoothness of the floor beneath his hands, a wooden, polished floor. His nose caught a scent, natural and pleasant.

Turning his head to the right he noticed wall-to-wall windows along the southern wall, a forest expanding beyond an equally polished patio. The ceiling arched a fair ways above him, a black fan with five arms spinning slowly.

_Leaves… I'm smelling leaves. I'M SMELLING LEAVES!_

A whoop of pure jubilance rippled out from Alastair's chest as he shot to his feet. Part of his brain acknowledged the green walls around him, the stylish lights hidden partially up into the ceiling. Next thing he was in a kitchen. Black marble counter-tops lining the walls in under dark oak cabinetry, chromed appliances here and there, shining clean sinks. And most importantly…..

Alastair tore open the door of the fridge, his eyes falling upon the pitcher of tea sitting therein, the lunch meats, the cheeses. Moving like a man, or rather boy, possessed he moved quickly around the kitchen, finding plates and glasses. He poured himself a large glass of the sweet smelling tea, along with grabbing a loaf of bread and making several sandwiches.

He ate with gusto, taking a large bite out of the first sandwich in a stack of seven. He nearly choked as he took one bite after another, taking a gulp of tea to push the food down. He let out a great sigh of content, taking a slower sip of the tea and a smaller bite.

_First bite of solid meat in years!_

"And the first thing he does after being outside of that room is go and make himself sandwiches and tea. He's going to be a man alright." Amora's voice echoed throughout the kitchen.

Alastair's head snapped to see Sandra and Amora standing in the doorway that he had passed through a moment ago. The young boy blushed slightly as he swallowed his current mouthful of food, before grinning sheepishly. He set down the glass of tea and the sandwich, then moved over to the two of them.

"We get to live here?" Alastair asked as he hugged his mother again. Sandra's smile turned sad, as she hugged her boy tighter. Amora saw the sadness in Sandra's stare, and moved back into the hallway to give them some privacy.

"You and Amora get to, honey," Sandra told her son as she crouched down herself and kissed Alastair's forehead. "That was the main condition to get you out. I'm still not allowed to see you, and you still aren't allowed to leave the wall that surrounds the grounds here, but its better than that room."

Alastair frowned at the news, as he felt a small part of himself be crushed by the words. That tiny hope, that weak, happy spark of hope that he'd get to be with his mom again disappeared and left a void in its place. He swept his eyes over his mother, staring intently as he tried desperately to memorize every small feature.

"But, we're going to set that aside now," Sandra told Alastair with a smile. "Because first things first is your presents."

"Presents?" Alastair's eyes lit up. He hadn't gotten presents on his birthday since his ninth birthday, the arrival of his Semblance and the aftermath having tarnished his tenth.

"Yes. I arranged to have it delivered to the courtyard," Sandra's eyes twinkled at her son's joy, as she let the boy through the intricate villa to the courtyard outside. From the outside the villa was a dark brown, overlapping of many natural hues along with black metal here and there and large windows. It was a vaguely modernistic Asian design,with a touch of western influence. A dark wooden patio encircled the entire perimeter of the villa, allowing one to travel all the way around it without actually setting foot inside.

The courtyard consisted of a large garden that rimmed the area, taking away the foreboding feeling that the eight foot tall stone-work wall around the villa and courtyard that kept Alastair enclosed. In truth, the boy was still caged, just in a bigger one, but he pushed this from his mind as his eyes fell on the center of the courtyard.

In the center was a large concrete platform, with steps on each of the four sides leading down. It was obviously intended as a heliport of some sort, as a bullhead airship sat waiting on one side, taking up half of the platform. On the free half of the raised area were two crates: One large and normally rectangular, standing just taller than a full grown man. The other was smaller and longer, laying along the ground. It was just under four feet long and appeared to only be a foot wide. In truth it almost looked more like an old style trunk than a shipping crate.

Alastair and Sandra made their way to the large platform from the villa, finding Amora sitting at the bottom of the stairs at the villa's front door. She smiled up at them as they passed and joined them, dusting off her backside as she stood. She ruffled Alastair's hair as they walked up the stairs to the platform, getting an irritated look from the boy.

Once they reached the two crates on the platform, Sandra pointed at the smaller, longer one, 'That one's from me."

Alastair walked to the box and crouched down, thin fingers fumbling with the lock for a few moments before getting it unlocked. He tossed the lock aside and lifted the large lit, revealing that the interior of the crate was lined with plush, dark blue fabric. Resting in the middle of the box and running most of its length was a long sword. The modern appearance of it contrasted greatly with the old-fashioned feeling the box gave off, and Alastair withdrew it from the box carefully.

The black and silver hilt felt slightly cumbersome as he held it in his right hand. He gripped the matching sheath, being careful of the spike-shaped crossguard, and pulled the sword free. It was a modified katana, the blade notched just slightly after the crossguard before smoothing. The spine of the blade was straight, unlike that of a traditional katana. The blade itself was what entranced Alastair the most. It was as a strange steel alloy, a soft, dull silver that shimmered as he held it.

"This is incredible," Alastair breathed as he held the weapon carefully. Sandra came forward to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she crouched slightly to kiss his cheek.

"It was Hector's. He left that with me a week before his disappearance. He said that he wanted to you have it, something to remember your blood father by," Sandra explained as she brushed her fingers through Alastair's long black locks, sadness dancing in her emerald orbs.

"So this is your last keepsake from him?" Sandra expected the question from her son, wiping his bangs away from his eyes. The eyes that matched Hector's. "Does it have a name?"

"No, it's _your_ keepsake of him. And when he wielded it, he called it 'Tempest'," Sandra smiled. "And you remind me of him, more and more every time I see you."

"Thank you, Mom," Alastair said, hugging his mother tightly and burying his face against her.

Sandra smiled as she continued to stroke his hair, noting how the boy had still not put down the sword that was came up to his shoulder, "You're welcome. The large crate appears to be from Tristan. Though, I don't know what he would send you."

Alastair's electric blue eyes trailed from his mother to the large crate that loomed just a few feet away. His smile shrunk into a flat line across his face, as he walked over to the large crate. Tempest's sheath was still clutched tightly in Alastair's left hand as he used his right to pop off the lock on the larger crate.

The front panel of the crate fell forward, revealing a dull gray machine with a vaguely humanoid shape. It was strapped securely to the back of the crate, while another smaller package sat at its feet. Alastair picked up the small package, opening it to find a letter inside.

_'Alastair,_

_This is the model AKS-One-Two-Zero combat android. Since you bear that bastard's blood and not that of a Wintergale, I have no expectations of you to be a true Hunter. You will learn the ins and outs of this model and will be sent parts to replicate it. If it seems you can complete this simple task that we have machines doing currently, I will give you the privilege of working in one of our factories as a minor engineer, as I said when last we spoke._

_Signed,_

_Tristan Wintergale."_

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," Sandra spoke as she finished reading the letter over Alastair's shoulder. The boy stood stock still after finishing the letter, his hand holding it loosely as his left gripped the sheath of Tempest tighter.

"It's okay, Mom," he finally spoke after almost a full minute. His voice was distant again, as it had been during his isolation. "I'm just going to have to disappoint him some more," he said, a new edge of determination in his voice as he crushed the letter in his hand.

_**March 22nd, 449 A.G.**_

Tristan Wintergale sat in his office at the Wintergale Technologies main office. It was a lavish room, hued in many shades of gray and blue. He leaned back in his expensive office chair, staring at the items on his mahogany desk with disdain. The years had been kind to the head of the Wintergale Family, the only great sign of his aging being the gray in his hair that now matched his business suit. Though the years had been kind to him, it did not stop the dark glare from tarnishing his face with heavy creases and hard eyes.

On his desk sat the heads of five AKS-130 Combat Androids, or rather what was left of them. It had arrived just moments ago, sent from the villa where he had tucked away his family's greatest disgrace and his wife's favorite charity case. It had come as a great surprise, as he dumped out the broken parts and charred wires onto his desk, to see that the five newest top-of-the-line androids he had sent the boy to study had come back in shattered pieces. What had him truly infuriated at the moment, was not the damaged state of his very expensive robots, but the note that fell out along with the damaged machinery.

_"Oops, they're broken. Thanks for the toy soldiers, Tristan, they helped me impress Professor Ozpin. I'll be leaving this little villa in the summer to go to the Academy. Don't bother trying to move me or drug me, we both remember what Amora and I did to the last goons you sent. Professor Ozpin will be sending a Bullhead here to pick me up, and he knows what you've done._

_Amora is going to stay with Mom._

_With me luck, you pissy old fart,_

_Alastair **Wintergale….**"_

Tristan growled in rage as he read the note again, flipping his desk over as he rose from the chair. Somehow the damn boy had gotten into contact with Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon, and the brat had the audacity to destroy his androids! The audacity to send this note! And the audacity to use his family's name.

When the janitorial staff had found the office that early morning, it had been in tatters…

* * *

The corner of Alastair's mouth curled in a silent smirk as he remembered Tristan Wintergale's reaction to his provoking little note. He absently spun Tempest's Edge in his right hand, flinging off the blood of Grimm still clinging to it.

"Alastair, do you copy?" Leon's stern voice cut through the earpiece, suddenly so loud it made Alastair wince.

"What? Yeah, I'm here," Alastair said, peering around the clearing he stood in. All around him the bodies of Grimm lay in pieces. Several Ursai cut to ribbons, countless Beowolves chopped into tiny bits. There was even a King Tajitsu, slashed neatly in half where the light and dark sides met and riddled with dozens of lacerations.

"We've been calling for five minutes. What have you been doing," Leon questioned over the comm-line. Alastair almost shrugged, before remembering that it would have been useless. He was barely out from beneath the heavy canopy of trees, so no doubt Kazue was having plenty of trouble trying to spot him.

"Sorry, Leon. Just lost in a few memories. The forest always brings a few back. Like the first time we met as Hunters instead of just as teenagers," Alastair chuckled as he scanned the edges of the treeline, fetching his Scroll from his pocket. His Aura was almost in the red from so much use, and he still had to watch over the first years.

"I remember that day. Glad you finally learned to relax, but how about staying in communication? Abel was about to fly over to make sure you were still alive," Leon's deep tones boomed across the comm-line as the armored warrior chuckled miles back at his place on the cliffs. "ETA?"

"I'm fine, if not a little tired. I'm only coming halfway back. I'll stay down here with the newbies," Alastair responded as he began walking at a casual pace back towards the cliffs of Beacon. His left hand dropped his Scroll back into his pants pocket, while his right comfortably held Tempest's Edge to his side and angled towards the ground. His left hand absently slipped into his coat pocket, extracting a tube of round candies. The gray swordsman flicked one of the treats into his mouth as he walked.

His childhood may have not been pleasant. It might have been Hell by many people's standards. But that wasn't going to stop him from living in the moment now and doing himself, his mother, and his lost blood-father proud by being the best Hunter he could be. That was the goal he'd set for himself on his twelfth birthday, to defy all pre-made plans for him and just do what he wanted with his life.

"Damn, that's sour!" he cursed with a laugh as he bit into the candy.

* * *

**And we're back. Whoooo shit, that was a big one. I hope you all liked it. I know this chapter is really long, and actually feels a little rushed, and I apologize for that. But what I'm doing as I reveal the backstories of Team BLWK is showing the main events in their lives that made them who they are today. It just so happens that in Alastair's case, it was the majority of his childhood. **

**I had actually had it suggested to me a few times by Puppeteer to divide it into two chapters, but I couldn't find a decent way to make Alastair go into another flashback to cover the second half of his youth. So instead you get a giant monster of a chapter.**

**I've learned my mistake about deadlines, though. From now on, A Wall Against the Dark will be posted as regularly as I am able. No more breaking all these promises for me. **

**On the other hand I've got a little request for you guys, as a fun thing to try: Puppeteer and I have been tossing around the idea of an Ask BLWK And REPR fic. Not that title obviously because that's rubbish, but you get the point. This is obviously inspired by Ask RWBY Characters by otakuroy. If you haven't read the fic check it out, it's pretty funny. At the same time, I had an idea of dragging BLWK, REPR, RWBY and JNPR out to a karaoke place as a fun little side project to make them sing songs that relate to them. However I've scrapped this idea as I've heard fanfiction is now getting a lot more strict when it comes to putting song lyrics into a fanfic. If any of you guys know the exact details on that, I would love to know. Part of me is saying f!% # it and right it anyways, but I don't want to take the chance of writing this one short project, and it getting my account eradicated. I'm rambling, so I'll just say what's-what: We aren't doing the side project immediately, as we want to develop the characters more to you, the readers, first, but I want you guys to think about some questions you'd like to ask our OC Teams, or even some of the main characters as portrayed through our filters. Again, it's just a fun little idea we had, and no one has to participate if they don't want to.**

**But enough with the long-windedness. This has been Relks The Disturbed, comin' at you LIVE from the WILD WILD WEB!**

**Va-le, my readers, and see you soon!**


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